


Your Eyes Are The Color Of Home

by geekchic64



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekchic64/pseuds/geekchic64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if you only saw in black and white until the moment you met your soulmate? Based off a tumblr prompt. Faberry through high school, starting with freshman year. Quinn’s 2nd POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freshman Year

**Freshman Year**

You’ve heard stories about it. Obviously. It’s not like it was something you could avoid, really. When you were growing up it seemed almost impossible to go a moment without _somebody_ talking about it. About how _wonderful_ it all was. How _beautiful_ and _magical_ everything was. How everything was (and is) just _so bright and vivid and light_. During the first few years of these whispered tales, you had been filled with so much hope and happiness you would feel your chin drop into you hand, eyes shining out the window as you just _imagined._

You spent years imagining the day you would find your soulmate. Imaging the day you would see him standing there in his perfectness. Your own knight in shining armor. You would imagine the hairs on your arms standing up, your breathing coming in a little bit quicker, and if you really pushed your imagination, you could even feel your heart pounding in your chest. Then, of course, your eyes would meet across a crowded room, or a quiet coffee shop, or over the pages of one of your favorite books.

And, of course, just like how all the stories go, your world would stop and then burst with color.

You used to spend hours, just sitting by your window, sighing wistfully as you tried to picture just what _colors_ looked like. On particularly good (or sad) days, you would ask your mom about them. You probably asked her about a million times by the time you were ten, but she would always give you a small smile and crinkle her eyes. Then she would describe to you all the colors you hoped you would one day see.

She told you how… _red was the color of your cheeks whenever you laugh too hard. Blue was the color of your constant daydreaming – how your head was always in the clouds or in a book. Green was the color of grass and the smell of fresh spring – a new start – and the sound of your pattering feet. Yellow was the feeling of soft flowers, the warmth of the sun and in your heart, and the sound of your laugh. Purple is the feeling you get when you read a really good mystery and you’re trying to figure it all out. It’s the color of thought and the pride you feel when you get it right. Orange is the feeling after a long, fun day and you think about all the times you laughed and smiled. Pink is the feeling you get when you sing and dance to your favorite song. And brown is the feeling of being home._

But she always saved her favorite color for last. Every time.

 _Then there’s the most beautiful color in the whole entire world!_ Your younger self would be just about shaking from excitement and wonder by this point. _This color makes your mommy’s heart very, very happy. Do you know why?_ Without fail, you would always whisper _why_ and the word would be filled with such marvel, your mom would lean down, gently kiss your forehead, and look back at you.

_It’s the color of your eyes._

You would feel yourself blush and know your face was _red_ , and your mom would smooth down your hair, which was blonde, _a light yellow,_ and you would smile and stare at your mom’s _blue_ eyes. But, really, everything around you was just shades of black and white. The grays held such mystery that a small part of you hated it. But the larger part? It waited with bated breath for the day you could tell your mom that, yeah, you knew _exactly_ what she meant.

But that was then. That was when you were still naïve little Lucy Caboosy.

Now you were _Quinn._ You were a freshman in high school, on the _cheerios_ squad, and you were quickly making your way up the social ladder. No more thoughts of bright colors, no more dreams of rainbows, no more head in the clouds as your heart took over. No. You’ve made friends with the constant gray around you and you’ve welcomed it. After all, it’s the only thing that’s always been there for you, through all these years. Through the bullying, and the dieting, and the nose job, and your father’s drinking, and your sister leaving, and your mom closing herself off. Your mom never did tell you what the color of sadness was but you could make a pretty good guess; it was the color of your mom’s eyes, or the shade of your front door, or the emptiness of your house.

But you’ve learned that the cheerios were _red_ and red? Red meant being fierce. It meant being untouchable, and feared, and worshiped. It meant being unbreakable, and powerful, and in control. It meant being _Quinn._ So you wore the uniform proudly, never telling anyone that you imagined your insides turning purple, and made sure almost every slushie you threw was _cherry_. Because red meant never going back to being Lucy. Because red meant never being a loser.

You weren’t alone, though. You weren’t the most popular – _yet –_ (it was only freshman year, of course), but you still had two friends: Brittany and Santana. You had met them at tryouts for the cheerios over the summer and you almost instantly clicked with them. They had been friends since they were so young, they barely remember what it was like to live in a world absent of color.

You want to be happy for them, but the part that makes you feel jealous, _green,_ because they can _see_ sometimes takes over. Okay, _sometimes_ is a bit of an understatement. So you paint the perfect smirk on your face, smooth your red uniform down, tighten your blonde hair, and toss a purple slushie at the closest loser. Because you can’t be Lucy anymore. You can’t be the girl pining after a world that would never be hers. You can’t be that girl who would give up everything to have her world flipped.

So when it happens one day, you feel yourself almost die.

You are at the mall when it happens. It’s early December, one nice weekend, and your mom wanted to get some Christmas shopping done. But, really, Russell had been angry all day and you know she just wanted to get the both of you out of the house. You don’t say anything as you munch on your soft pretzel while your mom flits in and out of the stores in the large mall.

You’re walking to the nearest trashcan to throw away your now empty pretzel bag when you feel it. The hairs on your arms stand up, your heart skips a beat before wildly thumping in your chest, and you feel your breath coming in quicker. You halt your steps, take a large breath, and slowly drag your eyes up.

And then you see _her_ – standing there, staring at _you_. And then, all at once, you see _everything._

You see the shining Christmas lights stung up all around the mall dancing with _color_. You see the bright clothes everyone around you is wearing. You see your hair fall into your eyes and it’s blonde – _blonde_! You almost start crying right there in the middle of the mall. In fact, everything starts to get a little blurry from your tears and all the colors are suddenly swirling together. You whip your head back up to see if you can still see _her._

You do. She’s at the other end of the mall and it looks like she’s having the same thoughts as you pouring through her mind. Her head is whipping around in every direction taking in _everything._ She has long dark hair and it’s swishing with every movement and she’s wearing a bright coat and you don’t even _know_ what color it is because this is all so _new_. But she’s smiling and laughing and there are at least twenty-seven stores in between you but you just _know_ that it’s your new favorite sound. Suddenly all you want to do is run over to her and just _stare_ and learn all of her colors because she’s making you feel yellow and red and orange and like a god damn _rainbow._

But then you feel your world stop spinning and it’s like all the colors are _gone_ and everything is black and white and shades of disappointment. Because she’s a _girl_ and _you’re a_ girl and if there’s one thing that you remember it’s the sound of your father’s cold voice _biting_ at your soul. You can hear him like he was standing right next to you, probably seething red, and telling you how much a disappointment you are and that you’re nothing but sin. You feel yourself fill up with so much _black_ you barely have a chance to take one more look at _her_ before you’re running into the bathroom two stores down.

You barely make it to the first open stall, pushing past a steady stream of people, before the first tear falls. There is just _so much_ to take in and you’ve never felt _so young._ You feel soft and pink and like _Lucy_ and there’s a tight knot in your stomach that just won’t _go away_ no matter how hard you squeeze it. You spend the next five minutes just trying to learn how to breathe again and it’s only when you feel your phone vibrate in a pocket that you take your first steady gulp of air.

It’s a text from your mom telling you that she’s done with the store she was just in. She asks where you are and you tell you felt sick and the mall is too crowded so you’ll just meet her at the car. You wait another full minute after she replies with an _okay Quinnie_ before you exit the stall.

You try not to, but you stare at _everything._ You look in every store, you glace at every person, and you just take it all in. This is what you have been dreaming of for the last _fourteen years_ and suddenly it’s _here._ Your _once upon a time_ is no longer a _maybe one day_ but rather it’s _today._ It’s _now._

So you stare. You stare and you ignore the thumping of your heart and the light tickle at the back of your head just begging you to turn around and find _her._

You step outside and you don’t even feel the cold air slap your face. Because the sky is _blue_ and the grass is _green_ and there must be cars in every single color. You manage to make it to your mom’s car while only almost getting hit twice. But then you see your mom walking to you, arms full of bags, and you’re crying again. She’s so beautiful and graceful and your _mom_ ; she was your first (and sometimes only) best friend and you can see her blonde hair and blue eyes.

She seems alarmed at first, obviously, when she sees you gripping the car behind you and crying in the middle of the parking lot. She quickly pops open the trunk and shoves all the bags in before she closes it with a thud and suddenly you’re in her arms.

“Quinnie, what’s wrong?”

And so you tell her.

“Mom,” you sniffle. “You’re so beautiful.” With a gasp she pulls back and stares at you with her own glossy eyes. And then she’s smiling and she’s laughing and you don’t think you’ve ever experienced her this happy and _orange_ before.

You spend the entire drive home just staring out the window holding your mom’s hand. The only sound either of you make is the occasional chuckle. You barely register the fact that you haven’t taken the highway home like you normally would. You just watch the world outside your window as the colors swirl and mix from the speed of the car. You want to ask your mom to tell you what all the colors actually are but you are so scared that you’d break the spell. So you watch. You watch the trees thin out, you watch the land turn into farms and hills and houses. You watch as the sun starts sinking in the sky.

You watch as your car pulls into an empty parking lot. Your mom has driven to an empty park and you can see there is a lake and trees and they don’t have their leaves anymore but you know what _green_ is now because it’s the color of _grass_ so you picture the trees are filled with them and they’re bright and green and you almost feel like crying again. But then again, you have to think if you ever even stopped. You feel yourself go pink when you realize the answer.

Your mom is smiling over at you and she squeezes your hand and gets out of the car. You follow her out. She grabs the emergency winter blanket from the trunk and makes her way down into the empty field, down by the lake. Your breath softly puffs out in front of you as you follow her. You make it to the small dock at the lake and your mom lies the blanket down. She sits with her legs slightly bent under her and pats the space next to her. You sit with your legs crossed and stare out over the lake. Suddenly it’s almost hard to breathe again and you know _why_ your mom has brought you here.

The sun is setting just on the other side of the water and the clouds are just so _beautiful_ and you can’t even begin to think of all the _colors_ that are there. But it’s reflecting in the still water and your eyes are stinging because _this is it._ You’re gasping because it’s so _beautiful_ and _wonderful_ and _vivid_ and _bright_ and _everything_ you’ve heard your entire life. You drink it all up. You freeze this moment into your memory and you swear with all of your being that you will never, ever forget this. No matter how many years you can see the colors you’ve always felt, no matter how adjusted you become, no matter what words your father and the world scream at you. Because this? This pure, unadulterated _beauty_ … was created because of your soulmate. Because of love. Because, even though when you think of _her_ and the gray starts seeping into your soul, you know that love? Love is beautiful. Love is a sun setting over sparkling water with every color from an artist’s palette brushing the sky. Love is magic. Love is _color._

Suddenly you’re laughing. You’re laughing so hard and you hear your mom join you and all you can do is hug her and she hugs you back just as tight. And she’s telling you that she loves you so much and you tell her you love her too. You tell her she’s the best mom and she tells you that you make her want to be the best. And then suddenly you’re _pink_ and you feel Lucy, buried deep within you, smiling at you. You laugh a little louder, hug a little tighter, cry a little longer.

But then your mom is pulling away, and she’s looking at you, and she asks you,

“So, who was he?”

And then you can’t breathe again but for all the wrong reasons. The sun is gone and it’s a cold December night and the wood under the blanket you’re sitting on is damp and suddenly you can’t feel your hands. Your mom starts to look panicked, and you can’t have that. You can’t tell her because all of this would be gone. And you can _not_ have _that._

So you do what you do best. You’re a deep red.

“I don’t know. The mall was so crowded. I just looked up, saw someone, and then… _color._ I, uh, I might have freaked out a little bit and ran to the bathroom.” It’s not a complete lie but you still feel the black seeping under your skin.

“Oh, Quinnie. You’ll find him again!”

You smile and try to push the black away. You think of the sunset and how, at one point, it was the same shade of _her_ coat. Your smile becomes a little less forced.

You take your mother’s hand when she stands and the two of you make your way back home.

Your mind is filled with yellows and reds and oranges and shiny, dark hair.

 

 .

  

It isn’t until February when you see her again.

This time it’s at school.

It seemed like the only thing you did since the first time you saw her was answer questions. Questions about what _it’s_ like, from your fellow cheerios who hadn’t experienced the color yet, questions about who the lucky guy is, questions about whether or not you’re going to look for him. The worst, of course, was during Christmas, when you were surrounded by Fabrays and their peering eyes and their judging tongues. Your father had be so _proud_ for the first few days, but then his bright eyes became cold and hard again. But you had sung that song so many times, the tight-lip smile and the polite, short answers and the _gray_ were natural.

So you didn’t tell anyone about her. You didn’t tell anyone about how you walked miles and miles through neighborhoods at night, just gazing at all the different Christmas lights. Or how you brought an extra pair of gloves with you – _blue_ (your mom made sure to teach you all the colors)– just in case. You didn’t tell anyone how your heart would jump into your throat every time you saw long brown hair and then plummet to your stomach when you realized it wasn’t _her._ You didn’t tell anyone how you just… _hoped_.

When you see her at school, you almost shout it to everyone. Because there she is. She’s _here._ And suddenly that rainbow is back and you feel like crying again. She’s at her locker a few rows down from yours and you want to laugh because literally how did it take you _months_ to finally find her – at the _mall_ , no less. But she hasn’t seen you yet, so you take a moment to look at her.

Your fingers start tingling, your mouth goes dry, and you suddenly feel like you’re about to pass out because she is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen – including the colors. She’s wearing a blue and green argyle sweater and a black skirt and brown Mary Janes and _Quinn_ would have been _red_ , but _Lucy_ is _pink._ And you’re thinking words like _cute_ and _adorable_ and –

And then suddenly Santana’s there, slamming your locker shut, and sliding in front of your line of sight.

“God that loser has absolutely no sense of fashion. I don’t blame you for staring, Fabray. Sometimes I catch myself doing it too, just thinking, _how can someone be that ugly?_ ”

There’s gray everywhere. And then there’s _burning red_ because how _dare_ Santana call _her_ ugly. How _dare_ she speak about _your_ soulma –

No. You can’t go there. You welcome the gray and the knot in your stomach.

“She kind of makes me wish I couldn’t see color so I wouldn’t have to see _that._ ”

Santana’s laugh ensures you that she suspects nothing. Good. You feel like the black is suffocating you.

But then Brittany is pouting beside you and Santana stops laughing and looks at her softly.

“She helped me find Mr. Quackers last year, San. Don’t be rude to Rachel.”

Rachel. _Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel._

You’ve read hundreds of books in your short life so far, but you’ve never heard of a more perfect word before.

Brittany and Santana start walking to class and you blindly follow them in your _Rachel_ trance.

And then you hear a locker shut and you look to your left to see her, _Rachel,_ turning to catch your eye. And then your world stops for the second time. Because this time there isn’t a crowded mall and almost thirty stores in between you. This time there is no sudden burst of color to distract you. Just you and Rachel ( _Rachel_ ) in the hallway staring at each other. She has the most beautiful eyes.

Rachel starts slowly smiling at you with what you can only describe as a _sunset_ in her eyes and if you could put together a complete thought you would have been able to think that, _yeah,_ you probably look the same way. Her cheeks go the softest pink you’ve ever seen.

“Hi Rachel!” Suddenly your world is pushed into motion again and Brittany bounds over to your Rachel – _no,_ just Rachel, she is not yours – and is giving her a hug. You push down the red and green. “Thank you again for saving Mr. Quackers. I’ve made sure to keep him away from all the trolls this time.”

“Oh, o-of course, Brittany. We wouldn’t want Mr. Quackers to be abducted by those nasty trolls again. It would truly be a travesty.” But she’s still staring at you and you at her and her _voice_ is shooting right through you and it’s _yellow._

“I don’t know what that means, but mm-hmm! Yup!” Rachel finally breaks eye contact with you to flash a smile at Brittany and suddenly you realize it’s going to be a while before you learn how to breathe again. But then Brittany is talking again.

“Rachel, you know Santana –”

“ – Hey, dwarf.” It’s said with a roll of her eyes and an annoyed flick of her ponytail.

“ – And this is my friend, Quinn. She’s on the cheerios with us!” And then you’re back to looking at a god damn sunset and Rachel licks her lips and softly whispers,

“ _Quinn.”_ You almost die right then and there because nobody, _nobody,_ has ever said your name like that. You want to tell her to say it again. And again. And again and again over and over until you’re drowning in color and her voice and _Rachel_.

But then there’s another voice in your head shouting about sin and disappointment and the colors stop swirling and your breathing becomes shallow and you do the first thing you can think of. You see red and you lunge.

You don’t know who you grabbed the slushie from, but all you know is that brown and red make you want to cry and sob out that you’re so sorry and that you love her. But instead, you bite out,

“Brittany, Santana, let’s go. We can’t be seen talking to some _freak._ ” And people around you are all laughing and you ignore the ice pick in your heart and drop the empty big gulp at Rachel’s feet and walk to class.

If Rachel thinks she can love you, then she is so wrong.

  

.

  

In March you start dating Finn. You let people convince themselves that you’re dating because, while you’re waiting for “him,” you’re also still in high school, so you should still be able to date. People understand and they pat your arm or give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze or flash a sympathetic smile your way.

You don’t tell them it’s because you already know just exactly who your soulmate is and you can’t be with her because you can’t be a sin. You don’t tell people it’s because you’re going to be the head cheerio next season and Finn will be the first string quarterback and it’s too socially perfect for your image to pass up. You don’t tell them it’s because you can’t keep running from Rachel so you decided to hide behind Finn and _pray_ that she understands what you’re trying to tell her. You don’t tell them how the yellows and oranges and reds and purples are all fading, bleeding into the big gulps you keep dropping at her feet. You don’t tell them how it _hurts._

You’re meant to love her. You are meant to be together. To be happy together. And you can’t help but look at her when you no one is watching. She is so beautiful. Even if she wasn’t your soulmate (that thought sends hot, burning _white_ through your heart), you swear you’d still be able to see the rainbow in her smile. One day in April you’re walking the empty halls in the middle of class and you finally hear her laugh. Your knees go weak and you have to lean against the row of lockers so you don’t fall down.

You were right: it’s your new favorite sound.

You’re meant to love her.

But how can you love something that makes you feel so damn ugly inside? How can you love something that automatically evokes the glare of your father in your mind? How can you love something that is so _wrong?_ So gray?

You can’t. So you don’t.

Instead you throw more slushies. Cherry. Every time.

Because red is beautiful and you are so ugly.

  

.

 

It’s almost the end of your freshman year; there is only one day left until summer break. You sneak off to the auditorium because there are just so many people and they’re not the person you want and Finn has been following you around like a lost puppy and you just need to _breathe._

So you sit in the back of the dark room staring at the stage with only one spotlight on, and you try to fix your heart because it’s _shattered._ You’re only a girl you shouldn’t have to be in this much _pain._ All you’ve always ever wanted was someone to love and have them love you back. Lucy and red and bruises of color and all. And you’ve _found_ that person. You’ve found _Rachel_. But you can’t have her. You can’t ever love her. Because it’s _wrong._

But you can’t stop thinking about her. You whisper her name like it’s a sacred prayer (it is) and you’re constantly rememorizing the curves and slopes of her face from afar. She’s a mirage that you can never reach.

 _Beautiful_ and _Rachel_ have begun to mean the same thing in your mind.

You wipe harshly at the tears falling from your eyes. You have to stop thinking about these things.

But then she’s _there._ On stage. Walking softly, slowly, almost as if she’s in a dream. She reaches the piano that’s under the spot light and drags her fingers over shiny top and then over the keys. She smooths out her skirt under her as she sits down on the bench. You don’t realize you’ve stopped crying.

And then she takes a big breath and pushes down on the keys and she’s _singing._ _This_ , this _right here_ , is suddenly your new favorite sound (besides Rachel’s laugh and the way she says your name).

 _Somewhere over the rainbow_  
Way up high  
There’s a land that I heard of  
Once in a lullaby

It’s soft and slow and _sad_ and you feel your heart breaking over and over again like waves crashing to the shore. You can _feel_ the words she’s singing like the colors you used to wish so hard for.

 _Somewhere over the rainbow_  
Skies are blue  
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

She’s so bright and is made of so many stars she’s her own galaxy. You’re crying again and you’re almost positive your jaw is touching the floor and your lungs haven’t received oxygen since you first saw her. The burning in your chest makes you gasp and then you’re standing.

 _Someday I’ll wish upon a star_  
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me  
Where troubles melt like lemon drops  
Away above the chimney tops  
That’s where you’ll find me

Your feet move without much thought from you. You don’t care. You slowly and silently stumble down the rows and down the stairs. Rachel is your beacon and you walk steadily to her light.

 _Somewhere over the rainbow_  
Blue birds fly  
Birds fly over the rainbow  
Why then oh why can’t I?

_If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow  
Why oh why can’t I?_

She stops singing almost at the same time you walk up the last stair onto the stage. You’re still in the shadows a little bit and Rachel was so immersed in the song she hasn’t noticed you yet. Her head is bowed and her hair is blocking her face and you just want to run your hands through it to see if it’s as soft as it looks. You hear her give a small sniffle and then there’s glass shattering in your chest and you can’t help but give a small gasp because, _wow,_ that really hurt.

She’s looking at you now. Her face is twisted in shock and pain and _fear_ and it makes you stumble forward because _you put that fear there_.

“Rachel…” It’s the first time you’ve called her by her name. In fact, it’s the first time you’ve said her name out loud to anyone before. It’s always been crude and callous names because if you ever called her Rachel, everyone would hear the way your voice caresses it like a long lost lover. (Because, in a way, that’s exactly what you are – what she is). They would hear the heartbreak and the sunsets behind each letter. They would hear the love.

Because, _my god_ , you want to love her. You want to hold her and kiss her and make her so damn happy she bursts with color. You want to tell her about your dreams but how reality is so much better because she’s there. You want to tell her that you’ll take her to that land so she can sing with the blue birds. You want her to meet Lucy and to tell her that she is _so beautiful._ You want her to know that she makes you feel like you’re _flying_ just by saying your _name._

Even though you know you can’t.

But you say her name anyway, and she hears it all.

She stands and takes a step away from the piano, towards you. Your eyes flicker over her face and you feel her do the same. You take a step forward. She echoes. Then five more smaller steps and she’s right in front of you. _Rachel._

“ _Quinn.”_ It’s such a small sound but it send chills up your spine. She’s looking at you like you put the damn sun in the sky and, _yeah,_ you bet you’re looking at her the same way. You’re so close to her you could count her eyelashes if you wanted to (you want to). But she licks her lips and then suddenly all of your attention is focused on her _mouth_ (you wonder if her lips are as soft as they look). But then she’s speaking to you and you would do anything in the world just to keep listening to her voice.

“You’re so beautiful, Quinn.” Suddenly there aren’t enough colors to describe the feelings shooting through you. So you laugh instead and you regain the use of your arms and she’s _smiling_ at you when you lightly push a lock of her hair back behind her ear (her hair is so much softer than anything you’ve ever felt). You let your hand softly fall through her hair until you’re cupping her cheek and you will your heart to please, _please_ not explode from your chest because you do not want this moment to end. Your smile is blushed with orange and yellow and pink and you softly whisper back, scared that anything louder would pop the bubble you’ve found yourself in.

“Rachel… You’re the one who is beautiful.”

She looks down because she’s blushing and it’s your favorite shade of pink. You swipe at the tear that falls from her eye while she glances back up at you through her lashes and a part of you think she has the right idea with the whole crying thing because you’ve never felt so _alive_. But then her left hand is gently grabbing your wrist that’s cupping her face and her other hand is traveling down your free arm until finally she laces her fingers through yours. And, _my god_ , you two fit together so perfectly – like you were made for each other.

You were, after all.

You slowly close your eyes and lean forward until your forehead is resting against hers. You’re breathing the same air and it’s actually making your legs begin to feel weak.

“I’ve been so…” you feel her sigh out, her warm breath surrounding you in a dazing cloud. You give Rachel’s hand a gentle squeeze to encourage her to continue. She takes a shaky breath in, “…. Scared,” and breaks your heart as she exhales.

Your eyes snap open and you pull your head back and drop your hand from her face. Rachel is still holding your hand, well more like squeezing the life out of it, and her face has so much _panic_ and _gray_ on it, you have to look away. The wild thumping inside of your chest does nothing to help calm you down.

 _You did this. You made Rachel afraid. You’ve_ scared _her._

"No – Quinn –Please! I –”

It’s the first thing either of you have said above a whisper; it’s the only sound to knock you out of the blue clouds to fall down down down back into the swirling gray. You feel yourself drowning and there’s no red to save you. You’re kicking and screaming and clawing but you’re _sinking._ There’s blood and water in your lungs and the auditorium is gone and you’re no longer holding her hand, but your father’s. And he’s shouting at you; you’re a monster, a sin, a disappointment, you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be able to see these beautiful colors.

And then it’s you. You’re standing in front of yourself and you’re standing tall and proud and _red_ and you don’t recognize the viscous snarl on your lips or the ice in your eyes. But it’s _you_. And you’re lifting up a big gulp and it’s spilling red everywhere and then it’s hurtling towards your face and it _stings._ The ice is in your chest and you can’t breathe and it’s like you’ve been slapped in the face and inside you Lucy is crying and yelling at _you._

But then there are soft hands on your face and there’s _brown._ Rachel’s in front of you and she’s speaking to you but you’re under water and her voice is muffled. Her fingers are running through your hair and a small part of you is so happy that the cheerios are over for the year so your hair isn’t trapped in a ponytail – because it lets _Rachel run her fingers through it._ She’s lightly scratching your scalp and drying your endless flow of tears and she’s telling you – _pleading_ with you – that it’ll all be okay, that _it’s okay_.

You feel the colors start to sort themselves out and your breathing is a little less shallow but you can’t be here anymore. You want to hug her and kiss her and give her the world – but how can you do that when your very own world is crumbling inside of you? She deserves to feel happy and beautiful and loved and all you’ve managed to give her was a habit of bringing an extra set of clothes to school and _fear._

You, Lucy Quinn Fabray, do not deserve her.

The walls are closing in on you again and you really have got to get out of that dark room or else you feel like you’re going to die. Your eyes flicker over Rachel’s face one more time and she’s slightly blurry but you can still see her beauty as clear as day. And then you’re kissing her forehead and it’s filled with the million _I’m sorry_ ’s you’ll never be able to tell her. Then you’re backing away from her comforting hands and you know your face in showing just how much your heart is _hurting_ but – somehow – you manage to brokenly say,

“ _I can’t, Rachel,”_ before you’re running down the stairs and out of the auditorium – back into the world that doesn’t know of the sunset in your heart – doesn’t know that that sunset is slowly turning into the night sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! So I'm just letting you know that I'm going to do my very best to update this as often as possible. College is killing me and I normally only write one shots, so we'll see how this goes! Feel free to find me at my tumblr and ask me questions or whatever! :) whatwordsmiss.tumblr.com


	2. Sophomore Year Part 1

**Sophomore Year Part One**

 

Summer is boring for you. You spend your time working out, reading books, going on “dates” with Finn (many trips to Breadstix), and sometimes hanging out with Santana and Brittany. You go to church every Sunday with your parents. No matter how many times you go, when the sun comes pouring through the stain glass windows, your breath still catches in your throat. But, still, no matter how many times you go, there’s still that small moment of trepidation that you’ll be struck by lightning when you touch the door. And every time your father talks about sin and every time your mom mutely nods her head in agreement, you feel yourself die a little inside.

Sometimes you would catch yourself thinking about your encounter with Rachel in the auditorium. On particularly sad days, you would go back to your window and think of all the things you would have said in another world. A more… accepting, world. One where you’d be free to love Rachel the way she deserves.

You come to terms that you can’t outright be mean to Rachel anymore. Before, she used to be an illusion to you. Just a name and a face to put to the term _soulmate_. And, other than a _slight_ infatuation and some curiosity, you didn’t really _feel_ anything for her (okay, so maybe that’s a little lie). But then you had your little moment and if you can’t make Rachel happy, you don’t have to make her _sad._

With a plan based more on avoidance and less on frozen drinks, you gear up for your sophomore year.

.

“Q, I need you to invade that Curly-q McGelHead’s little club and give me all the Intel you can. There’s no way his pathetic band of misfits is going to take away my funds for the cheerios.”

Your heart is puttering in your chest because that’s _Rachel’s_ club. You haven’t talked to her since your embarrassing break down in the auditorium the end of last year. You’ve stopped throwing slushies and insults, and in their place, you’ve just completely ignored Rachel. Even so, you’ve still managed to find out little details on her – less of keeping tabs and checking up on her, and more so out of just mild curiosity (at least, that’s what you’ve convinced yourself).

Which is how you found out she’s in glee club (you knew she could sing, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise). That’s also how you found out she’s in about ten other clubs, has two gay dads, is a vegan, and talks. _A lot._ She’s also going to live in New York and make it on Broadway one day. (For Rachel, you’ve also learned, it’s never about _if_ but rather _when_.) You try to ignore your sudden love for tall buildings and city lights after you found that out.

But you’ve been _ignoring_ her. You can’t ignore her if you _join her club._ What’s even worse is that she might think you’re joining it _for_ her. That, suddenly over summer break, you’ve had an epiphany (okay so maybe you had a very tiny one) and you want the both of you to _try_ … something. Whatever that might be. Friendship or…

You can’t bring yourself to finish that thought.

Coach is still sitting behind her desk in front of you polishing her plethora of trophies, so you dumbly say, “Of course, coach Sylvester,” and walk out of her office.

If you’re going to do this, then you’re enlisting Brittany and Santana (and Finn) as your backup and support (and very tall shield). 

.

Your song goes without a hitch and you join glee club.

. 

It’s not even two days later when Rachel finally (you’ve been waiting for this) meets you at your locker.

“Hello, Quinn. I hope your summer was well for you. I see you still look lovely as ever in your cheerios uniform. I hope you don’t mind, as I know you probably don’t want to talk to me – at least not here in the public of the school halls, if our interaction, for lack of better term, was any indication – but I do have a few questions that have been eating away at me, and I just can’t seem to figure them out.” You hear Rachel take a deep breath, so you mimic her, shut your locker door, and turn to her.

You’ve found that, whenever it’s slightly warm outside, Rachel loves to wear skirts. Short skirts. Super, how-are-those-even-school-appropriate short skirts. Being that it’s still the beginning of school, it’s been very nice outside, temperature wise. You will your eyes not to stray downward.

You look down, anyway.

_My god those legs are not fair._

You gulp and look back up to Rachel, who is looking expectantly at you.

“What do you want?” _Please say me._ You shake your head and prepare yourself for Rachel’s questions.

“Why?” You blink. _Okay,_ not exactly the long winded query you expected. But, still, you can work with that.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, R – Berry.” You feel your mouth tug down into a small frown; you can’t risk saying her name out loud. Not again.

“Fair enough. Why did you join glee club? I was very much so under the impression that you wanted almost nothing to do with me. From the slushies and crude names last year and you ignoring me all summer and the start of this school year. Of course, I can’t help but also remember our moment in the auditorium.” You feel your jaw clench and your eyes flicker to the students mingling in the halls around you. If Rachel notices, she continues anyway.

“I _saw_ you, Quinn. I saw the real you in that room. And forgive me if I’m wrong, but you saw me, too. I talked to my dad who works with your dad and so I understand just how hard –”

“You don’t understand anything,” you snap. It’s cold and biting, but the moment she mentions your father, you completely shut down. Rachel seems hurt, but not shocked. You don’t know what’s worse.

“… Okay.” Rachel takes another deep breath and smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in her shirt. “Either way… I want to know why you joined the glee club. Was it because you simply wanted to join? Or was it because you knew we need twelve participants and so that’s why you, Brittany, Santana, and Finn joined. Although, I have to say, I understand Finn joining because he’s your b-boyfriend, but Brittany and Santana were a bit of a surprise.”

You smirk a little and almost tell her all of your embarrassing stories of you catching Santana, for lack of better description, getting down to a song. You want to tell her all of your secrets and stories and hear her laugh. But you bite your tongue and let her continue.

“Or maybe…,” Rachel’s voice has gone quiet and so soft you can barely hear her, “and a large part of me feels foolish for even thinking about this, but, honestly, you can’t blame a girl for hoping… But maybe… it had something to do with me…?”

You want to scream yes at her. _Yes, yes, everything I_ do _is for you._

“Sorry to crush your dreams, but coach wanted us in the club to be a spy and report back with our ‘findings.’” You roll your eyes because you can’t look at Rachel’s fallen face.

“Oh… Okay, then. Well in that case, I seriously implore you not to do anything to sabotage this club. Not that I’m saying you would, but I’ve heard horror stories surrounding one Sue Sylvester, so I can only _imagine_ how terrifying she can be. And I know that _glee_ club might seem dorky to you and uncool… But it’s a really good family with some really good people. And, well, we’ve made it our home. So, just, please…” Rachel takes a deep breath just as the homeroom bell rings. You tug your books closer to your chest.

“Okay.” Rachel flicks her gaze back up to you and you _swear_ you see the beginnings of a smile. You absolutely hate the part of you that reminds you that your heart shouldn’t flutter at the _thought_ of Rachel’s smile. “But only because it would be almost inhumane to destroy such a pathetic club. I’ll tell coach what she’ll want to hear, so don’t worry about losing your precious little family of misfits.”

You’re about to push past Rachel to walk to homeroom but your feet won’t move because she just looks so _sad._ You internally roll your eyes at yourself (but, really though, who are you kidding).

“And,” you sigh and lick your lips, “look...” Rachel looks back up at you with hope. It’s guarded, but it’s still there (and it makes the gray inside you a little lighter). “We’ll work hard, but just don’t expect me to be singing a solo every week, or whatever,” you grumble out.

She grins at you and your steps are slightly more bouncy on your way to homeroom. 

.

Glee club, you’ve quickly come to find out, is actually really _fun._ Sure, Mr. Schue can sometimes be a really terrible role model – not to mention rapper – and some of the other kids in the club annoy you, but at the end of the day, it’s still a pretty okay club. Not that you would willingly admit that to anyone. But you really do enjoy being able to dance and sing to songs again; it reminds you of your good Lucy days. There’s also a sense of _freedom_ that doesn’t necessarily come with being on the cheerios; it’s all about drills and perfection with them, but in glee club… it’s just about having fun.

And, of course, trying not to fall out of your seat or drool on yourself every time Rachel sings a solo. Which is basically every meeting, honestly. Not that you’re complaining; anyone can realize just how unbelievably talented Rachel is. Even the other divas, Kurt and Mercedes, admit that Rachel is _good_. So even when you’re swaying in the background or pretending to read a book on the top riser, all of your attention is always on Rachel.

You try to keep your staring to a minimum. Honestly, you do. But it’s just so hard sometimes. You’re beginning to think that maybe Santana might be catching on to you. She knows you haven’t thrown any slushies at Rachel (or anyone) this year and you haven’t called her man hands or RuPaul or anything horrible like you did last year (just “Berry”). But you hope she thinks it’s just because you’re teammates now (well, technically). Santana has always been extremely perceptive, though, so there’s always a small knot in your gut whenever she’s around you and Rachel.

Finn doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s still the good, doting boyfriend he’s always been. Constantly hanging his huge arm around the back of your chair and flashing you grins and smirks he probably thinks are charming or whatever (they’re not). He sings you songs, too. They’re not bad – he’s not bad – but he’s just not the person you want dedicating silly loves songs to you. Which sometimes makes you feel bad, but, _honestly,_ Finn knows you can see color. He _knows_ that you’ve met your soulmate, even if you can’t “find him” again. So you really shouldn’t feel bad that he’s obviously developing some semiserious feelings for you, because, well, he should know better.

Which brings you back to Rachel (honestly though, everything brings you back to her).

You weren’t wrong when you said glee club was _her_ club. She is almost always the first one to volunteer for a solo (which _still_ makes your knees go weak) or give “pointers” to her fellow glee clubbers (she’s usually not wrong – however blunt she may be). She also often times gets in arguments with Mr. Schue over his plans for songs or weekly projects. Granted, some of his ideas really _are_ kind of terrible, but you still kind of feel sorry for him because, well, Rachel can kind of be really intimidating – which totally makes you feel purple inside. (Sometimes, it takes all of you not to cheer out _that’s my girl!_ )

(You have to remind yourself that she’s not your girl)

(It hurts)

Luckily, though, she’s seemed to pick up on your not so subtle hints about the relationship between the both of you. Over all, Rachel really has left you alone – other than some polite conversations, which you’re thankful for. And she really has seemed impressed by your hard work. Even if she did say you occasionally go sharp. Which, whatever, you’re not going to be on Broadway like her, so.

But, yeah, glee club isn’t that bad. Especially considering it gives you an excuse to be around Rachel.

. 

You’re at a party with Finn when he finds his soulmate.

You were sitting on the sofa, listening to him talk about something boring – well, listening is putting it nicely – you were more zoning out than anything, when he suddenly stopped talking and went still. You looked away from your people watching to see Finn sitting next to you with this look on your face that made you crunch your red cup in your hand. Then he was up and basically _sprinting_ across the room to some girl you’ve never seen before.

You honestly don’t remember the last time you’ve felt so _angry_ before in your life. Not when your father threw his drinking glass at the wall, or the time the kids at your old school dumped your lunch on your head, or when your sister _left_ you here.

Seething, you push off the sofa to get another drink from the kitchen. You don’t care about the people you shove out of your way: you’ve always been an angry drunk, just like your father.

Three more drinks and two shots later, you aren’t be able to tell purple from green. All you know is that you’re angry; you’re angry because Finn was supposed to be with _you._ He is the quarterback and you’re the head cheerleader and you’re _meant to be together_. But he goes off and finds some _skank_ to be with – his freaking _soulmate_ – and leaves you in the dust. _You. Quinn fucking Fabray!_ You can’t be with _your_ soulmate so why should _Finn_ be able to be with _his?_

You see Puck grinding on someone unimportant and a growl slips out as you slam your drink on the counter. With a smirk on your face and ice in your eyes, you stalk your way over to him. You smell the alcohol on his breath when you grab his arm. Puck starts to say something, until he realizes _who_ is dragging his arm and _where_ you’re taking him. You ignore the snickers and cheers over the booming music while you make your way upstairs.

You make him say your name the entire time. 

.

You’re still not sure why you thought this would be the best place to do this, but it’s after school and you’re crying to yourself in a bathroom stall on the second floor.

You’re pregnant.

You hadn’t really been feeling your best for a few weeks, and then when you missed your period…

Your first thought was to laugh. Which you did.

Your second thought was that you were going to kill Puckerman. Which you really want to.

Your third thought, after the colors had sorted themselves out again, was what had you really scared.

Now what?

Now fucking what?

You’re barely sixteen years old – you can’t have a kid! You’re still a kid yourself!

You see your father in your mind and your crying comes harder. You’re sitting in the stall, curled into yourself, shoulders shaking with so much force you’re sure you’re going to break soon. You see so much red and you don’t know if it’s because of your uniform or your father’s anger or because you can’t breathe and you feel like passing out. You’re panicking and your hands are tingling but you can’t calm down.

The bathroom door squeaks open and you throw your hand over your mouth to shut yourself up because _of course_ you forgot to lock the door. You hear the sound of footsteps until they stop and then the sink turns on. It’s loud enough that you allow yourself a gasping breath (it’s shakier than you wanted). But then suddenly the water shuts off and you feel your heart stop in your chest. You will the stranger intruding on your mental breakdown to just _go away_.

But then she’s speaking,

“Hello? Are you alright?” and _of course_ it’s Rachel.

You sob harder. You hear her walk over to the stall you’re sitting in, and then you see her feet hesitantly stop in front of the door. You don’t want her to see you like this.

“Go away, Rachel,” you hiccup out. You don’t miss her gasp of surprise or the way her feet move in place – like she wants to go to you but knows she can’t.

“ _Quinn?_ Quinn, are you alright? Ar-are you hurt? Do you need anything? C-can I help?” Her voice is filled with some much concern for _you_ it makes you cry even _harder_ – something you honestly thought was absolutely impossible a few moments ago.

You’ve never felt so alone and beyond terrified in your entire life. But Rachel is here and she wants to help you and she’s meant to be your… your… _person._ You’re practically ripping the door open and the only thing you can think is _Rachel’s hair is cute today_ before you’re basically _throwing_ yourself at her.

Rachel stiffens as your arms wrap her shoulders, but she’s quick to snake her arms around your waist. The hug is so tight you can barely breathe, but you need this. You need _Rachel._ Because there’s a pregnancy test in your right hand (you made sure it wasn’t touching Rachel because _ew_ you just peed on that) with a ‘+’ glaring up at you.

You’re crying into her neck and she’s rubbing your back and softly shushing in your ear.

“It’s okay, Quinn. Whatever it is, you’re okay.” Except you’re not okay. You’re not _going_ to be okay. Nothing about _all_ of this is _okay_. So you just hug Rachel tighter, as if she could hug together your world that’s falling apart all around you. As if she could teach your heart how to not be broken anymore with her own. As if she could block the gray trying to crawl under your skin. You pray and you cry and hug her tighter. You let her comfort you.

After a few moments, your breathing becomes less like choked gasps, and more like someone who just ran a mile (or ten).

You feel Rachel start to pull away from you, so you tighten your arms to keep her close. She smells like strawberries and is so warm you feel the ice in you begin to thaw. You’re selfish.

You hear her chuckle and whisper in your ear, “I’m not going anywhere, Quinn. I promise.” So you slowly let her go.

You watch her grab a paper towel and wet it and suddenly you have to look down because you’re so embarrassed and pink and _wow_ you just really regret that intense, ugly crying you just forced upon Rachel.

But then she’s standing in front of you with a small sad smile holding the wet folded up paper towel. You give a fraction of a nod and then Rachel’s oh so gently wiping away the makeup that’s ran down your face. You lean into her touch that is so soft it reminds you of butterfly wings and your favorite shade of blue.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, Quinn,” Rachel murmurs. Suddenly it feels like there’s a parade in your chest and you feel your face catch on fire under Rachel’s hands and the cool paper towel. You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Finally, she’s done cleaning you up. She tosses the paper towel at the trashcan and you chuckle because she misses by at least ten feet. The pout on her lips tells you it wasn’t on purpose, but at the sound of your laugh she flashes you a smile that makes her eyes crinkle a little. She rolls her eyes, huffs a little, and stomps over to pick up the towel and properly throws it away.

“And that is why I belong on the stage and not on a basketball field.”

“Court,” you can’t help but correct her with a small smirk. Rachel rolls her eyes a little, but you see the corners of her mouth pulling upwards.

“Yes, well, same thing.” But then she’s walking slowly back over to you and she’s looking at you like you’re a wounded animal. Which, honestly, you can’t blame her for doing. “So… Are you okay?”

Suddenly the plastic stick in your hand feels like a million pounds. Your palms start sweating and the colors around you start swirling together again. You feel like vomiting.

So you do.

Rachel is there, holding back your hair (which is in a ponytail) and rubbing your back. When you’re done, she helps you walk over to the sinks so you can wash your mouth out. You’re clutching the stick in your left hand and it feels like a death sentence. You accept the piece of gum Rachel got from her bag, and you turn to look at her.

She’s looking at you like if she could simply will away whatever was bothering you, she would. You take a deep breath, count three freckles on her nose, and blurt out,

“I’m pregnant.”

You feel like barfing again but hold it down.

Rachel’s eyes go so big you’re scared they’re going to pop out of her head (which makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time). But then they finally zero in on the stick that’s clutched in your hand. Then she looks back at you. And then the stick. And then you. Again. Then she’s blinking about a thousand times a second.

“… _Oh._ ”

You give a strangled chuckle because _yeah._ You glance back at Rachel who looks she’s seen a ghost and your chuckle transform into a sob and more tears that are hot traveling down your face. You wish that they would burn you because _you’ve messed up._ You’ve messed up _everything._ You are the biggest _sin_ and only the reddest fire could baptize you now.

The pregnancy stick falls to the floor with a clank as your head drops into your hands and your knees hit the ground with a thud. The irony of your position is not lost on you, and you just pray that it’s all over soon. Because when you used to dream as Lucy about one day _falling_ this is not what you had in mind. But gravity and grief bow your head and you can feel your heart sinking down to your toes. Oxygen is burning in your lungs and it feels like ten thousand needles are stabbing your hands, but you ignore all of it. You just feel the colors slipping away like grains of sand in your fist. There’s a deafening silence echoing in your ears so you slam your eyes shut because maybe just maybe you can drift away completely.

But of course you can’t – of course you won’t. There’s a church inside of you and its beautiful stain glass windows have shattered. Every step you take send shards into your sole until your bloody footprints are evidence of your sins and your inevitable damnation. This is your punishment. This is your penance. You shall bleed a deep red.

Your church is burning inside of you until at last the smoke clears and you find yourself back in the second floor bathroom. You’re not crying anymore. You’re not doing much of anything, really. Just kneeling on the cold tile and staring straight ahead.

At Rachel. Who is cupping your face and talking to you. She must have knelt down in front of you at some point during your (probably tenth) breakdown. You blink and stare at her lips to try and understand what she’s saying.

“… okay? Quinn? I said we’ll figure this out, alright? You’re going to be fine. I promise.” Your eyes flicker back up to hers and you see so many things; raw determination, concern, fear, _love._ Your eyes drift back down to the pregnancy stick on the floor.

You don’t doubt Rachel’s promise. You don’t know her as well as you would love to, but you know she’s an honest and good person. You know she’s fiercely loyal and motivated beyond belief.  So a small part of you, the part where you know Lucy lives, believes her when she says that you’re going to be okay.

But a larger part of you feels numb. Because the larger of you, the part of you that is Quinn, _knows._ And that part of you has never been so terrified to go home. Because home is where your demons live. Home’s where the monsters don’t live under your bed and only creep out at night, but they reside in the pictures that frame your walls and in the ice cubes that clink in your father’s glass and in the suffocating air that surrounds the dinner table. The monsters chain themselves to your legs the moment you walk through your front door. They snuff out the colors and put a padlock on your heart. They mock you and torment you until their words weave their way into your nightly prayers and your morning mantras. They bleed themselves into the red of your uniform and growl behind each sneer you give and are the ice behind your glares.

Your eyes feel so heavy and you would give anything just to be able to close them for years. But you look back up to Rachel who has been lightly running her nails across your scalp while her other hand strokes your face. You take a gulp and you feel your face collapse.

“I’m scared, Rach.” You regret the words – not because they make you feel pink and weak, but because they make Rachel look absolutely heartbroken.

“Oh, Quinn,” her voice breaks on your name and you’re pretty sure your heart does as well. But then she’s pulling you into a hug and your face is pressed against her neck and her hands are across your back and on your head and she’s _holding_ you. And, really, you’ve never felt safer. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

You pour the last of your energy into hugging her. You feel yourself slipping and you know you’re about to tumble again but Rachel is your anchor. She is the only thing keeping you from collapsing in on yourself. She is the only thing keeping you here.

She is the only thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This was a quick update because I originally posted this to fanfiction. I decided I would try my hand over here as well! My tumblr is whatwordsmiss.tumblr.com if you wanna talk or have any questions! :)


	3. Sophomore Year Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol oops it’s been some time… Thanks for putting up with me. And I totally don’t blame you if you completely forgot what the dink happened in the first two chapters (stuff happened). This chapter is really a set up for the next one (which hopefully won’t take a freaking century to write). Kind of not proud of this one, but it's something, right?  
> Womp.  
> So without wasting anymore of your time…  
> Enjoy X

**Sophomore Year Part Two**

 

When you were ten years old, your father threw a dinner party for some of his coworkers and his boss. He had just landed a big deal for the company and, as the Fabray’s do, he wanted to “celebrate” (read: brag). You, your mom, and your sister had been cleaning the house for about a week straight leading up to the dinner party – despite the fact that not even one speck of dust ever seemed to have existed in your house. You would scrub the floors and wash the windows and shine the silverware and glasses for hours and hours on end. Meanwhile, your mother would hum under her breath, your sister would constantly stare out of windows, and your father would walk around with this look of pure pride on his face you would imagine his steps leaving a trail of purple footprints in his wake.

And then the night of the party finally came. Your sister did your hair and makeup that night even though she was only a few years older than you (your sister was always perfect at everything). Even though you were still Lucy, you imagined your dress being a bright orange and your shoes bright green and your stockings bright yellow; you never felt prettier or so light that you imagined you were a feather floating on a summer breeze. You were so proud of your father and the house and the food you helped your mom cook. You watched your father shake hands with different men and you watched them all clasp him firmly on the back as they congratulated him. You watched and turned blue as you wished that someday you could make your father this proud.

It was right after your father gave his speech when it happened.

He had just finished speaking about grace and balance and knowing when the perfect timing was; his fellow workers all nodded their heads in agreement and his boss had given a grin dripping with experience to your father. Everyone had loved his speech so much it made you so excited and orange that you weren’t looking where you were going.

You never realized how much a simple tray of hors d’oeuvres could stain carpet so badly. And your dress. And your father’s boss’ shirt.

… You were just _so_ excited…

But the moment the silver platter finally stopped clattering on the ground, you could feel your heart stopping right along with it. The dinner party had come to a screeching halt and you could just _feel_ everyone’s eyes flickering between you and your father.

If you hadn’t still been seeing black and white, you’re sure you would have watched all the color drain away from your world in that moment.

But, either way, you’re pretty sure that’s happening again.

Right now.

Because about ten minutes ago Rachel had gotten off the phone and told you that her dad was on his way.

To pick up Rachel. And you. Both. Together. At the same time. Rachel’s dad. The man who loves her the most in the world. And would do anything to protect her. And gives her a loving home.

That he’s taking you back to. Where they live. Him and Rachel and her other dad. All under one roof. That holds a lot of memories and other things. Like Rachel’s room. Where she sleeps. And dreams. And laughs. And cries.

But that was ten minutes ago. And this is now. And now? Now you’re standing out front of your school _clutching_ your cheerleading bag like your life depends on it.

Because it does. Because Rachel is standing next to you. Waving. At her dad. Who just pulled up in front of you two. In a car. That you’re supposed to get in. With Rachel. So her dad can take you both back to her house. Where they live.

This is _fine._

 _You’re_ fine.

Your feet fell like they’re made of cement and you kind of feel like barfing again but you’re _fine._ Totally. One hundred percent.

Now if you could just remember how to breathe again.

You see Rachel open the passenger side door and toss her bookbag into the seat. She smiles at her father, whom you still can’t see, and brightly greets him; her laugh trills back to you and restarts your heart a little bit in your chest. She closes the door and looks back to you, the ghost of her smile still floating on her face.

You can’t really feel _your_ face right now, but you’re pretty sure you look like someone about to walk death row. Because you totally are. Because that’s Rachel’s _dad_ in the car.

You hear coach’s voice in your head; _you think this is hard? Try getting into your soulmate’s parent’s car after finding out you’re pregnant – and not with your soulmate’s baby. Oh –_ and _you were totally the worst person on Earth to your soulmate so her dad probably_ hates _your guts._ That’s _hard!_

It totally doesn’t help. Like, at all.

But Rachel is smiling at you so softly you barely miss it.

“Hey…” You try to respond to her but, honestly, there’s like a desert in your mouth right now and you’re pretty sure you’ll never be able to speak again in your life. But Rachel is reaching out and gently prying your death grip from your bag’s strap until she’s holding one of your hands. If your palms weren’t so sweaty, you’re sure it would have been a lot better. Not that holding Rachel’s hand is a bad thing because, honestly, you’re pretty sure you could hold her hand until you died.

Which you’re pretty sure will be very soon. Because either her father is going to kill you, your father is going to kill you, or you’re going to suffer a heart attack. Or maybe all three. At the same time. Because that’s just how much the world loves you, apparently.

Rachel gives your hand a gentle squeeze so you gulp and focus your attention back to her. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and glances back to the car.

“You’re going to be alright, okay, Quinn? My dad is harmless, really. He’s a drama queen like me, if anything. So whatever horror story you’re planning out in your head right now, it’s not going to happen. My house is a total safe space. Absolutely no judgment. Unless, of course, it’s about musicals because in that case all bets are off – no one is safe.” Rachel squeezes your hand again when you don’t laugh because – _oh right_ , any functioning person would realize she was trying to make a joke to make you feel better.

But you’re pretty sure you stopped properly functioning about ten minutes ago. Or two years ago. Honestly, it’s pretty much anyone’s guess at this point.

With one more smile at you, Rachel drops your hand and turns back to the car. She opens the back door and slides over to the other side waiting for you to follow. With a gulp and one more glance at the bright sky above you (because you’re pretty sure it’ll be the last time you see it), you get in the car.

The first thing you notice is the smell of the car. It smells like cookies. Honest to god, I-just-entered-a-bakery aroma. Which, okay, you didn’t really expect the car you were going to be killed in by Rachel’s dad to smell like _cookies_ so you guess this is a good sign?

You don’t look at anyone until you’re buckled up and your cheerio’s bag is sitting on your lap casually protecting you. You quickly glance over to Rachel to see her giving you a small smile (which grows at the sheer _terror_ on your face, you’re sure) and then finally up to the driver’s seat.

Rachel’s dad is slightly turned around in his seat and he’s looking at you with kind eyes behind his glasses. There are crinkles at the corner of his eyes as proof of years of laughter and his smile is almost identical to Rachel’s and it _astounds_ you because this is the man works with your father? Your cold and harsh father who only laughs loudly at fancy restaurants to let people around him know that he’s above it all? Whose only wrinkles are from glaring and disapproving looks?

But here he is, smiling at you in a car that smells like your grandmother’s kitchen.

“Hello, Quinn! It’s nice to finally meet you!” He’s holding out his hand and you try to as quickly and as casually as you can to wipe your sweaty palm on your uniform before you firmly shake his hand (you may be on the verge of death but you were still raised with strict manners).

“Hello, Mr. Berry, it’s nice to meet you as well, sir.” Okay so you weren’t nearly as peppy sounding as Rachel’s dad and your voice is a bit rough from your rather aggressive sobbing a few minutes ago, but you remembered how to talk so, really, it’s a win for you.

“Oh, piffle, Quinn – call me Hiram. Mr. Berry will get very confusing very quickly and you make me sound like an old man. I’ve worked very hard on maintaining my youth, thank you very much.” He grins at you before he turns around and starts to pull the car away. “I’ve practically got the skin of a baby.”

You hear Rachel giggle next to you and instantly some of the tension leaves your shoulders.

“So much so you cried like one when you lost _Trivial Pursuit_ last weekend – not to mention you’re basically going bald like one, too,” Rachel taunted through a smirk and a wink your way. You have to stare a little bit longer because you’ve never really _seen_ this playful side of Rachel. And, _hello,_ she just _winked_ at you!

Hiram gave probably the world’s largest gasp and threw a hand over his heart as he glared at Rachel through the rearview mirror.

“Rachel Barbra Berry! You take that back this instant!” His eyes flicker back to you and even though you know his eyes are brown like Rachel’s, you see orange’s and yellow’s dancing through them. “Don’t listen to a word she says, Quinn. I was only crying because my _daughter_ and her _father_ ganged up on me! I swear, I can’t trust anyone in my home! It’s a travesty, I tell you!”

Well you definitely know where Rachel gets her dramatics from, that’s for sure.

You don’t really know how to act or what to say, so you just give a weak smile and a pathetic chuckle. Rachel seems to take pity on you because she’s suddenly lurching forward to control the radio. You’re thankful for the topic change, but then you’re struggling to gulp because Rachel’s … _backside_ … is right in front of you.

Your red face is staring out of the window (because you are a respectful _lady_ ) when you hear the music start up. It’s not anything you know and it’s obviously from a musical so you figure Rachel plugged in her iPod or put in a CD or something.

Rachel plops back down in the backseat and then it’s quiet for a moment before she and her dad start singing to whatever song is playing. While they’re distracted you stare at the trees flying by you and try to regulate your breathing.

Because, honestly, how you’re acting is just ridiculous. So you’re in a car with your soulmate and her father – so what? And you just happened to have found out you’re pregnant. Again: so what? You’re Quinn freaking Fabray and you’ve got red coursing through you. Stop acting like a scared little girl who is made of pink and women the hell up.

You feel your walls slowly rebuilding themselves brick by black brick until the storm inside of you is almost suffocated. Your hands are no longer tingling and your back straightens out matching your stiff jaw. You focus on the trees, their greens blurring together. You focus and concentrate on shutting everything off –

But then Rachel’s holding your hand and it’s so unexpected you can’t help but jump a little. You whip your head from the window to look over at her.

She’s just looking at you with her wide eyes filled with concern. She frowns a little when sees the black swirling in your eyes and minutely shakes her head.

“Don’t,” Rachel whispers to you.

And just like that, your walls crumble to dust.

Rachel squeezes your hand when she spots your trembling lip. You swallow around the lump in your throat and slam your eyes shut.

You will not cry anymore.

You ignore the lightning in your chest and focus on Rachel’s warm hand in yours. You don’t think about how on _Earth_ you’re going to get through these next few months, and only think about the thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You slowly open your eyes again to catch Mr. Berry looking away from you in the rearview mirror.

A small part of you wonders if he knows. If he knows _all_ of what you’ve done.

( _My god,_ _think about what all you’ve_ done. _To others. To_ Rachel.)

You squeeze Rachel’s hand softly before letting go. You clasp your hands together and rest them in your lap. You glance over to Rachel to see her wearing the same concerned frown so you muster up the effort (and courage) to send a small smile her way.

You’re still here.

And it seems to calm her apparent fears – if only a little bit.

(You just pray that you’ll be able to stay long enough to fix _some_ of this… But you can feel the gray pulling you down and you’re terrified.)

The moment dissolves and Mr. Berry steps in to relieve the silence.

“So, Quinn, you’re in glee club with Rachel? How’re you holding up?” He sends a smirk to Rachel through the mirror and she does her part with an eye roll and a huff. You’re thankful for their playful nature.

You clear your throat to answer. “Um, it’s actually fun. It’s a … nice change of pace from having a crazy woman scream at you through a bullhorn.” The Berry’s (Berries?) both laugh at your comment and you swear you can see the purple that tints Rachel’s smile.

(It makes you feel good)

“Oh so Rachel hasn’t broken out the bullhorn yet?”

You know it’s just a joke but you still feel red cloud your vision. You didn’t mean to insinuate that Rachel was crazy and you can only imagine what her father is thinking of you and your breathing comes in a little faster because you just keep messing up and _why is Rachel always a punchline._

But Rachel gives you a quick side glance and (once again) comes to your rescue.

“Dad, I’ve obviously have been saving _that_ level of crazy until Mr. Schue suggests we meet only once a month and never mentions a proper set list for regionals.”

Rachel sends a reassuring smile your way and you will yourself to _calm down._

“A very smart plan, if you ask me. But, ah, yes, Quinn, I have in fact heard many horrendous stories about your coach. I liked to hope that they are a bit exaggerated, but, well, no one is as dramatic as I am. Except maybe Rachel.”

You look over to see Rachel’s rebuttal, but she’s only nodding her head sagely in agreement. “It’s true.”

And that’s how the rest of the drive to Rachel’s house goes: Mr. Berry asking a question, you answering, and then Rachel and her father sassing each other back and forth. It’s so strange for you to witness… But it still calms you down with each laugh that’s shared.

But then you’re pulling into the Berry’s driveway and you feel your hands becoming numb again. Because while the drive here had been surprisingly pleasant and distracted you from your impending doom… Suddenly it was made _very_ real again.

Rachel and her father both unbuckle and step out of the car and you numbly follow them. You move on autopilot and don’t even realize what you’re doing before you’re opening the passenger door and grabbing Rachel’s bag for her. You both stand in shock for a minute when you turn to face her.

You’re not even sure _why_ you got her bag for her… it just felt… right to do. You’d like to be able to brush this off with an eye roll and a _whatever it’s just a bag_ … But you both know you wouldn’t be able to.

You feel your face match the slight blush on Rachel’s face when she takes the bag from you with a _thank you, Quinn_ that is so purple and pink you feel yourself become tinted with it.

And if your fingers happened to brush each other’s and stay for a few seconds too long for it to be a coincidence… Well. You just didn’t notice.

You clear your throat and clutch your bag’s strap as you follow Rachel into her house.

The first thing you think when you walk through the front door, is that _this_ is what a house should look and feel like. There seems to be thousands of photos covering the warmly colored walls and there are knick knacks on shelves and candles that aren’t just for decoration on the small tables. There’s a small pile of shoes by the door and a blanket messily thrown across the sofa and the mail has been tossed on the coffee table. There’s a vase filled with bright flowers and you can’t help but feel a little green because it actually seems like people _live_ here.

Whenever you’re at your house, you can’t help but feel like you’re in a sterile lab.

But Rachel’s house? Rachel’s house is a home and you doubt she even _understands how good she has it._

Your eyes are drawn to a particular photo on the wall where you can’t help but compare the purple shirt Rachel was wearing in it to the color of a grape slushie.

You feel your face burn with shame as you look away.

(You’ll never understand how good _you_ have it. Well… _had_ it, once the news gets around that you’re _knocked up._ )

Rachel kicks off her shoes into the already existing pile and softly pads into the family room. You carefully toe off your sneakers and follow mutely.

Rachel turns to look at you and takes in your (probably shaking) hands death gripping your bag.

“Would you like something to drink or possibly eat? I’m not too sure how well versed you are on vegan snacks, but I’m sure I would be able to whip something up to your liking if you’d like?”

You jerk your head back and forth. “No. Um, no... thank you.”

You are both silently standing still with about twenty feet in between. It is so awkward and tense you can’t help but feel yourself begin to drown in gray.

(You expect the following months will be dripping in nothing _but._ )

Rachel suddenly takes a few small steps toward you like you’re a wounded animal (your hands tighten around your bag and honestly you can’t blame her). She licks her lips and reaches out her hands slightly as if to take the bag from you despite the large gap in between you two.

“Quinn… I know that you’re scared… But… You’re safe here.” Your eyes widen and you feel your eyebrows coming together. You’re so terrified and nervous because you haven’t felt so much like _Lucy_ in such a long time that Rachel could absolutely destroy you if she wanted to. “I promise.”

But you feel a blanket of yellow slowly cover you when you realize that she won’t.

She never will.

And then the gray is gone and your hands loosen. You take a deep breath and nod to Rachel because – even though you literally have _no idea_ what’s in store… You know that, somehow or another, Rachel will be here. So you ignore how stiff your fingers are from clutching your bag so tightly and place it against the nearest wall.

Rachel smiles encouragingly at you and gestures to the sofa. You walk over with shaky legs and you want to gently sit on the edge of it, but as soon as you feel the soft cushions, your body collapses. You heave a great big sigh and allow your eyes to drift shut.

A soft rustle comes from next to you and then there’s a faint smell of strawberries. You don’t bother opening your eyes until you feel a blanket being draped over you.

Rachel’s right in front of you, her face so close to yours you can’t help but think back to the auditorium. She let’s go of the rest of the blanket and slowly stands straight again.

You never look away from her, and she never looks away from you. But then the storm is raging inside of you again, and you glance away before she can spot the pink in your stare. You take a deep breath and try to find the tiniest bit of courage left within you.

“Rachel, I…” But you don’t know what to say. You don’t. Because there’s nothing you can say, yet there are mountains of words just waiting to come barreling out of your mouth.

But you’re a coward. You’re a coward and you’re weak so you bite your lip and squeeze your hands together so tightly you think you’re going to shatter your bones.

You don’t say anything, so Rachel does.

“It’s okay, Quinn. Just focus on getting some rest, alright? It’s been a rather long day for you.” You can’t help but give a chuckle that is overflowing with self-hatred. You glance back up at Rachel and it looks as if there’s a war within her and it makes your colors dim ever so slightly. Because even though you haven’t bullied her this year (which _whoop dee freaking doo, you’re still a terrible person, Fabray_ ), you still cause her pain.

You slam your eyes shut and shake your head, because even though you want to do nothing but fix this mess, you can’t. At least, not right now.

Because, _my god_ , you are unbelievably exhausted.

But Rachel is still standing in front of you and you know you won’t be able to do anything productive while your body is absolutely _buzzing._

“Actually… Could I possibly have a glass of water?” You speak softly and slowly because you don’t have enough energy for anything else. But Rachel looks delighted she can help you in _some_ way, so you know she doesn’t mind that it sounds like you’re speaking for the first time in years.

As soon as she turns to walk into the kitchen, you draw your feet up under you and scooch down the sofa so you’re resting against the arm. The sofa really is extremely comfortable and the blanket Rachel covered you up with is warm and smells faintly like her you can’t help but snuggle further into it.

You hear Rachel speaking to her dad in the kitchen and it reminds you of your own parents waiting for you at home. So you begrudgingly stand up from the cocoon of comfy and walk over to get your phone out of your bag. You quickly type out a message to your mom telling her you’re at a friend’s house (you pause when you type those words because you’re not sure if it’s a lie or not) and you don’t know when you’ll be home. But at least it’s Friday so you don’t have to worry about school tomorrow.

You toss your phone back into your bag and make your way back to the sofa. You’re just getting comfy under the blanket again when Rachel walks out with a glass of water. You take it from her with a soft _thank you_ and the cold water is beyond relieving on your burning throat. You set the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table in front of you just as Rachel softly sits next to you on the far end of the sofa.

The silence is so still and suffocating it reminds you of your grandmother’s funeral where everyone was too scared to say a word and shatter the quietness.

It’s ironic how the news of finding out you’ve created a _life_ reminds you of death.

But a single ‘+’ on a plastic stick pretty much signed your death certificate for you, so.

You let your hands drop to your stomach and you play with the fringe of the blanket.

 _What the hell are you going to do_?

You’re pretty much numb at this point, but you figured you could hide this for a little while. At least a month or two. Three if you’re _really_ lucky. But you would have to start going to the doctors to make sure everything’s going okay. And you’re not eighteen so you’ll definitely need a parent with you.

The image of your father sitting with you as you get a sonogram is so absurd you can’t stifle the manic laughter that rips through you.

It’s so unexpected that Rachel nearly jumps out of her skin next to you. She’s now looking at you like you’ve grow an extra head and a part of you gladly welcomes the change from her sorrow filled stares. But her reaction only makes you laugh harder and soon enough you’re doubled over and clutching your stomach because it hurts so much.

You hear Rachel join you in your laughter and it sounds nervous at first. But then you accidentally snort and her giggles are yellow and they’re dancing through the air.

And then just as sudden as your laughter came, it was drowned out by an onslaught of tears. You’re sobbing so hard you can barely breathe and you feel sorry for Rachel because your emotions are probably giving her whiplash and, really, no one should have to deal with you right now.

But then she’s pulling you into a hug and you fall against her.

You’re so tired of breaking down and crying. You’re just so tired of it and you never want to do it again. Because you’re sure you have cried oceans of black and gray at this point and your soul is craving orange sunsets and blue birds.

But Rachel is holding you again and even though the storm is threatening complete destruction to the body it rages within, you can’t help but think of calm, white clouds. And that maybe one day, you’ll be able to be light as a feather and float away on a warm wind.

But right now you’re just so tired. And Rachel is holding you and she is soft and warm and safe. And for the first time in what seems like years, a part of your soul begins to slowly shift into place. Because even if your world is spinning out of control, Rachel is holding you and keeping you here.

She is holding you, and you fall asleep in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Seriously thank you so much for sticking with me through this. It means a lot. PLEASE feel free to let me know what you think so far! Feedback is so important to me.)
> 
> Come pester me about updating at whatwordsmiss.tumblr.com


	4. Sophomore Year Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But she loves you.
> 
> And it’s enough for you to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa wait - another update so soon???? And almost 7k words???? WHAT  
> (tbh idek man just roll with it I guess)  
> I'm getting my laptop checked out before I move back to college at the end of the month so I'm not too sure when the next update will be - but I have big plans. Big, big plans.  
> Again: sorry for any typos. I'm beta-less. And tired. And also ao3 likes omitting random words???? WHAT THE DINK, AO3 - NOT COOL, DUDE!  
> Enjoy! X

**Sophomore Year Part 3**

.

There are many things that you don’t know.

You don’t know when you fell asleep. You don’t know what – or even if – your mom replied to your text with. You don’t know what your father is doing or if your sister smiled today. You don’t know every president’s name or how to parallel park in one go. You don’t know the meaning of life or if there is a sliver of truth in fortune cookies.

You don’t know what you’re going to do about your baby. You don’t know where you’re going to be in five or ten years. You don’t know how to get to point b from point a without getting lost along the way. You don’t know why you had to live without color for so long and you don’t know how you would ever live without it again.

You don’t know how Rachel is so beautiful. You don’t know how she is so soft and caring and you don’t know how, in a world that is so mean to her, she never wavers. You don’t know how someone couldn’t love her. You don’t know how her voice sounds like fairy lights twinkling at dusk on a warm summer night. You don’t know how she stole your heart so quickly and you don’t know how you could ever ask for it back.

But you do know that you never want to.

You know that your heart wasn’t even ever yours to begin with. You know that it always had Rachel’s name signed on it like a love letter ready to be sent to a pair of soft hands and brown eyes. You know that Rachel will always be your person through life and she will know you better than you will ever know yourself. You know that she will always be there with a soft blanket and a place for you to feel safe from a world that wants nothing more than for you to fail.

You know that you can’t ignore her anymore. You know you haven’t completely fallen (though you know you could if you allowed yourself) and you won’t be shouting anything from the rooftops (at least, not yet), but you know that the quiet moments will be reserved just for her. You know that – even though she shouldn’t – she still picked you. You know that, somehow, she will always pick you.

You know that you will always pick her.

But, most importantly, you know that she loves you. You don’t know how or even _why_ , but she loves you. She loves you even though you hate yourself. She loves you even though the world is shouting at her not to do it. To not jump because it isn’t worth it. _You_ aren’t worth it.

But she loves you.

And it’s enough for you to wake up.

.

Which you’re kind of confused when you do. Because you’re almost positive that you passed out on Rachel’s sofa (on top of her).

And this is most definitely not her sofa.

You’re in her room.

What you’re lying on is her bed.

Rachel’s bed.

Her big, _super_ comfy bed.

“Oh my god I’m in Rachel’s bed.” You feel yourself go pink but it’s a different shade and you can’t think about the obvious reason _why_ – _because you’re in Rachel’s bed._

How did you get here? Obviously it wasn’t Rachel (you can’t help but snort at the image of _Rachel_ carrying you up the stairs to her room), so maybe it was her dad? You gave a harsh sigh and rub the heel of your hands into your eyes.

You’re frustrated. That pretty much goes without saying. This day has been an absolute shit show and you have so many messes you need to clean up and you just don’t know where to start. But you have to start somewhere, and so you decide that you should start with the one thing that could actually maybe one day make you happy.

Rachel.

So you push yourself up and out of her bed (which was incredibly hard because _my god that bed is so comfortable_ ) and slowly walk around her room, taking stock of everything you find and locking it away in the back of your gray heart.

Her walls are a light yellow and you think it’s perfectly fitting because Rachel is practically the definition of yellow. There are numerous awards from singing and dancing and even some acting competitions that leave you feeling lilac inside. You smile softly when you see the tripod in the corner of the room where Rachel records her MySpace videos. You spy a few stuffed animals that makes Lucy giggle.

But your favorite thing by far in Rachel’s room are the photos that line her walls. There are many of her at various competitions and even more of Rachel with her two dads throughout the years. Her other father, the one you have yet to meet, is a larger black man, and even though you can still see the colors in his eyes clear as day, there is also an underlining seriousness to him. You’re anxious to meet him, because if anyone from Rachel’s life would give you the hard time you deserve, you feel like it would be him.

(You pray he is as forgiving as his daughter.)

But in each photo the Berry’s are smiling megawatt smiles or pulling a funny face, and Rachel is always in the middle of her fathers. It makes your heart feel a little brighter knowing that Rachel was able to grow up with a family that could give her every color of the sky. She was – and is – very well loved.

(You allow yourself to hope – if only for a moment – that maybe… just maybe… you would be able to make her smile like that.)

You spy a lone photo tucked into the corner of Rachel’s mirror and you walk over to investigate. (You try hard to ignore your reflection because you really _don’t_ want to know how wrecked you look right now. But either way, your eyes still flick over your smudged make up and bloodshot eyes and the mess you call hair. You try to repair the damage but deem it futile and look back at the photograph.)

It’s a photo of the New York City skyline as the sun rises behind the buildings. The photo is so bright and colorful and _beautiful_ it leaves you absolutely breathless.

The corners are slightly bent and you assume that it’s from Rachel constantly looking at it. You don’t blame her. If you had something this beautiful, you would always be looking at it too.

And as if the universe wanted to remind you that you _do_ have that something, you hear a soft knock and turn to see Rachel standing in the doorway.

She’s holding a tray of food and you ignore the soft growling in your stomach because, _my god_ , how could you have been so _cruel_ to this beautiful girl? You’re staring at her and she’s staring at you and you think you’re both looking at each other with new eyes.

The moment is quiet, and it’s a different kind of quiet than you two have ever experienced. It’s a quiet that has Rachel’s yellow walls slowly turning seafoam. It’s a quiet that doesn’t have your heart trying to break itself out of your chest, but instead it thuds steadily.

(Because why would it ever want to leave when it finally figured out where it’s meant to be?)

It’s a quiet where, if you could, you would freeze time and bury yourself in this moment because it’s a quiet in which you don’t need anything else.

But then Rachel finally speaks and you realize that you will always need her. You will always need more of her.

(You feel your heart turn blue and pump the color throughout your entire being as you imagine always having Rachel by your side.)

“I took that photo last December,” her voice is low and soft as she slowly walks over. She puts the tray down on her desk and then she’s right next to you. She’s staring at the photo on the mirror but you can’t look away from her. Because, _my god_ , she is just so goddamn beautiful. (You feel yourself burn with embarrassment when you remember how atrocious you’re currently looking.)

She takes a deep breath and bites her bottom lip and you are completely mesmerized.

“After seeing you in the mall and thus immediately also seeing color for the first time, my dads surprised me with a trip to the city that weekend. Since it’s such a long drive we stopped for the night a little more than halfway. We were on the road early enough the next morning for me to take that photo.” You look back at the photo and your mind drifts back to being at the lake with your mom and you completely understand the whimsical tone Rachel’s voice has taken on. “It was one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.”

You look back at Rachel to see her staring at you.

You don’t move an inch because if you did you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from kissing her. And even though you realize you want nothing more than to do just that, Rachel deserves better.

So you don’t even breathe as you stand there drinking her up like it’s the first time you’re seeing colors. Because who knows what will happen tomorrow? All you know now is that you’re standing with Rachel in her room and, for the first time in a very long time, you feel hope blooming inside of you, coloring your bones with every pastel shade you could ever feel.

“Hi.”

And if your smile breaks the moment, you just can’t find it in you to care at all because Rachel softly smiles back at you.

“Hello.”

“Would it even be worth it if I inquired how you are faring?” You raise your eyebrow and Rachel huffs a laugh. “Right, that’s what I assumed.” You quirk your lips in a smile that is more like a grimace and you look down and away from Rachel’s stare. “Well, I brought you up some food because I wasn’t sure when the last time you ate and I have no doubt that you are feeling somewhat hungry. After all, today was rather … Eventful.”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

“After all, today was rather eventful.”

You flick your gaze back up to Rachel and you see her struggling not to smile so you roll your eyes and shake your head and try not to smile as well.

“Funny, Berry.”

“Yes, most people aren’t aware of the humor I possess. A shame, if you ask me. But, either way – their loss.”

“I’d say so.” Rachel smiles at you and you look over her shoulder to the tray on her desk. “Thank you… For the food. And, well, everything else. It um… You didn’t have to… help me, Rachel. I um…” you take a deep breath and try to get your head on straight ( _isn’t that the problem though_ ) because Rachel is looking at you so unabashedly it’s making your thoughts spin in a blur of color. But what you have to say is important and you need her to understand.

You shut your eyes, lick your lips, and try again.

_Fix this mess._

“Rachel… I have been so…” you chuckle darkly and you have to look away, “ _terrible_ to you. Just because what? I was scared. Well… I still _am_ scared – terrified even. And I know that it’s no excuse, but Rachel… I didn’t grow up like you.” You gesture to the photos on her walls. “My family, we never just _let go_ and … goofed off and had _fun_. From the moment I could remember, we Fabray’s always had a role and a part to play. And god forbid you ever _strayed_ from that role…”

Your hands are starting to tingle so you wrangle them in front of you and pray you can get through this impromptu speech. Luckily Rachel seems okay with waiting for you so you struggle with your breathing and focus on Rachel’s yellow walls and push down the red and purple that’s crawling up your spine.

“What I’m _trying_ to say… is that I’m sorry.” You look back to Rachel and she’s staring at you like she’s been waiting a long time to hear you say those words. And you suppose that she _has_ been.

You’re pretty sure your heart is pounding so hard it’s going to break your ribs.

But you have to keep going.

“And I know that doesn’t _fix_ anything or justify my actions, but… But from now on I’m going to be _trying_. Just _please_ … please be patient with me because I have a very strong feeling these next few months are _not_ going to be easy. Like, at all. But, Rachel, I – I don’t want to… cause any more pain. Because honestly I’m just so tired of it all. So please just know that… I’m going to be trying my best… whatever that means…”

_How very eloquent, Fabray._

You rub your face with your hands and take a deep breath because even though you feel so exposed and vulnerable and _scared_ … you also feel so purple inside because you feel Lucy smiling at you and you know she’s proud of you (even if it _did_ sound like you just learned the English language yesterday). But you haven’t felt this kind of pride in a long time and it’s _nice_. You feel like spinning but Rachel has yet to say anything so you open your eyes to look back at her.

You pray that Rachel _understands_ and that she knows that this whole _share your real feelings_ thing is one of the hardest things for you to do. Because it’s easy to ignore and be mean and throw insults and slushies. But to let your walls turn to dust and give Rachel the opportunity to _humiliate_ and _destroy_ you…?

You look at Rachel and you feel like a fool for even ever thinking she would do that to you. Because there are tears filling her eyes and she’s looking at you like you’re a goddamn _hero_ and you feel the dust inside of you begin to blow away on a warm wind.

“That’s all I’ll ever need, Quinn. As long as you’re trying, we’re going to be okay.” And her voice is quiet and gentle you feel yourself crying again. But for the first time today they’re tears of _relief_. And then Rachel’s crying as well and she’s holding her arms out and when she whispers, “can I hug you now,” all you can do is nod your head and wrap your arms around her waist.

Later you’ll totally blame all of this on the pregnancy hormones despite the fact that right now you’re not even really _that_ pregnant but whatever.

But right now you are more than content with the feeling of being wrapped up in a hug from Rachel. It’s different than the hug in the bathroom earlier today; that one was filled with gray and red and complete panic. But this one? This one has you feeling coral and wishing you could spend the rest of your days holding Rachel. This one feels like you’re _finally_ able to get air into your lungs and calm down. Because the two of you fit so perfectly together.

You feel Rachel play with the hairs at the base of your neck so you nuzzle your face into hers.

If you pushed forward ever so slightly, you would be kissing her neck.

And you want to. _My god_ , you want to.

But that’s for a whole nother conversation on a completely different day because even though Rachel is making you feel brave right now, you’re just not … ready.

And then your stomach is grumbling and you kind of hope Rachel didn’t hear it to save you some face, but she’s giggling in your ear and the sound alone is worth your slight embarrassment.

“Maybe I should take advantage of that food,” you breathe against her skin and Rachel’s giggles hitch and you’re confused as to why until you pull away from the hug and see a light blush on her face.

“M-maybe.” You can’t help but smirk.

“I’m anxious to see if your cooking skills are on par with your wit, Berry,” you tease her and she rolls her eyes and you swear you see her blush darken just slightly.

“Well I’ll save you from the suspense and inform you that my daddy cooked the pasta. Unless it’s my infamous vegan sugar cookies, me cooking you food is the last thing you should ever wish for. It is truly horrific.” You look back at Rachel and expect to see her eyes lit up with mirth, but instead she has a faraway look in her eyes until she shudders and looks back to you.

You take her word for it.

You sit down at Rachel’s desk and pull the tray closer to you and then you’re basically drooling because _oh my god this smells absolutely delicious._ You twirl the spaghetti on your fork and take a bite and you can’t help but moan because _oh my god it tastes even_ better!

“Holy crap, Rach, I need to shake your father’s hand because this is _so good_ ,” and your mouth is still full and you don’t even care about manners because you need to be best friends with Rachel’s dad. Like, right now. You take another huge bite and release another huge moan and why isn’t Rachel saying anything? You look over your shoulder to see Rachel standing in a daze staring at you. And – _is that a little bit of drool_? Why does she look… hungry? She can have some of your spaghetti if she wants –

_Oh._

You look forward again and try not to choke on the spaghetti because _right, of course, this whole …_ attraction… _thing works both ways… And you were very_ vocal _about your approval._

_Oops._

(Yet you can’t stop the purple butterflies in your belly because knowing that Rachel … _likes_ you in _that_ way… kind of makes you feel really good about yourself. Like, even better than when you made head cheerleader and your father told you he was proud of you.)

(The thought of your father has you snapping out of your Rachel haze in the blink of an eye.)

You cough once more to clear your throat and make sure you sound as professional as possible.

“Your _father_ is an excellent chef, Rachel. Your rather large and slightly scary _father_. Who I am assuming is _downstairs._ ”

You glance back at Rachel to see her still standing there _looking_ at you. And when she mumbles, “Dad and daddy left to give us some time… We’re home alone…” you swear to _god_ you’re going to _choke to death_ on this spaghetti.

Knowing you’re home alone with Rachel – especially when she’s looking at you like _that_? Not good news. Not good news at _all_.

You shake your head and shove more pasta into your mouth because you absolutely _refuse_ to allow your thoughts to drift _there._ You take a chance and look back to Rachel and almost immediately regret it.

“Hey, Berry,” you say after you swallow, “do you mind not staring at me like you’re going to violate me?”

It’s Rachel’s turn to splutter and you feel so embarrassed you swear your face is going to catch on fire.

“Quinn – I – I,” you hear Rachel clear her throat until her voice has an extra ounce of professionalism in it that has you rolling your eyes, “Quinn, I am most apologetic for my rather embarrassing gaping that was less than polite and far from being acceptable. You are here as a guest and I will treat you as such from this point forward. I will even maintain a respectful distance if you wish and I sincerely hope you understand just how genuinely sorry I am for again staring at you like you were a piece of meat – which, and while I appreciate metaphors because they are important, that was neither a metaphor nor a good analogy considering I am vegan and meat repulses me and I would most definitely _not_ be staring at it like I was at you. Because eating meat is just cruel and horrific and you on the other hand, Quinn, are anything but with your flawless skin and shiny hair and _fantastic_ –” you have slammed your eyes shut at this point because Rachel wasn’t making things any better, and luckily she seemed to have finally realized where her rambles were taking her.

“… So before I dig my grave any deeper, I’m just going to shut my mouth and sit here quietly.”

You look over your shoulder to see Rachel sitting on the edge of her bed with her eyes screwed shut and her lips pressed between her teeth. Her face is the reddest you have ever seen and she looks absolutely _mortified._

You take a deep breath and move your chair around until you’re on the side of her desk allowing you to continue to eat and look at Rachel at the same time.

_Okay, Quinn… Rachel made you feel comfortable – which is an amazing feat, honestly, so huge props to her – so now it’s your turn. Fix this._

“Hey, Rachel, it’s okay. Really. I’m used to people staring at me,” you clench your jaw because okay so not the right thing to say. You try again. “I mean… Rachel, it’s alright. _This_ … isn’t just _you_ … I mean, you’re not – you’re not _alone_ in your… So I… I, um,” you’re blushing again and honestly you kind of wish you were back to crying because you haven’t blushed this much since the kids dumped their lunch on your head in middle school. “I understand,” and you can’t look at Rachel and she can’t look at you because this is the first time either of you have talked (if loaded stares and strangled sentences even constitutes as _talking_ ) about what’s going on between the two of you since the auditorium last year.

It feels kind of… nice.

(You block the image of your father’s glare in your mind.)

“But, um, could we also maybe… move on? To another topic or something please? Because I think my face is going to be permanently red at this rate. And I _really_ want to win prom queen one day and I don’t think that would help my cause.”

“Of course, Quinn,” and you feel yourself sigh with relief. “How about the topic of your pregnancy?” And then you feel yourself freeze up because okay maybe not the best topic of choice. Rachel notices the fork that stopped halfway to your mouth at her question and she begins to backtrack. “Or maybe not that topic either…?” It’s asked in a tentative voice and you chew slowly to allow yourself a moment to think and collect yourself.

“No… No. No, I need to talk about this. And with what I put you through today you at least deserve to ask some questions. Just… please remember that this isn’t… easy for me.” Rachel nods her head, “but I’m trying, Rachel.”

“And I don’t doubt that, Quinn. I truly do not.” She allows you a moment to take another forkful of spaghetti before she can no longer hold her tongue. “So… Do you know what your next course of action will be? Are you going to carry it or are you…?”

You look down at your feet and bite your lip. You look up at Rachel through your lashes and shake your head.

“No, I’m not going to get rid of the baby.”

She slowly nods her head and you’re thankful she’s not judging you.

“Okay, as long as you’re sure. And if you wish, I could always do some research for you? Like I said earlier, there is absolutely no judgment here.” _She’s too nice. And also slightly psychic?_

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’m going to be changing my mind.” You take another deep breath and move the pasta around with your fork. “I think I’ll be able to hide it for a little while… But once my parents find out…” You drop your fork and wrap your arms around yourself and bow your head. Because you want nothing but to be able to shrink into yourself and vanish. Because it just hit you that you’re most likely going to be losing your _family_ because you’ve made a simple mistake.

(Okay, so maybe it’s not completely simple – but up until this moment you have been a practically perfect daughter.)

(Which, _great_ , now you’re singing _Mary Poppins_ in your head.)

But then Rachel’s in front of you and her hands are on your knees and – really, how could you have _ever_ called them man hands? She’s rubbing her thumbs back and forth until you finally peer up at her. She’s smiling at you and you feel the gray loosen its hold on you.

“Quinn, I promise you that I will be by your side through all of this, okay? No matter what. Until you tell me to go, I will always be waiting for you. With whatever you need. And I mean that, Quinn. I really do. Because even if we weren’t somehow … bound… to each other, I would still be here for you, Quinn. Because you need someone to fight for you and I am more than willing to be that person for you. Do not ever doubt that. Do not ever forget that, okay? I’m on your side. And I know my dads are as well. So, I’m being serious when I say that when the day comes that your parents find out about the baby, we will be here with anything you need.”

She takes a deep breath and you have to blink a million times to keep the tears at bay.

“And… And if anything drastic happens like…”

She can’t finish the sentence so you do.

“Like them kicking me out and telling me that they never want to see me again in their life? And telling me that I’m dead to them?”

Rachel squeezed your knees and you sigh and try to calm the fire within you.

“If you need a place to stay, the Berry residence will always have the door open for you, Quinn. We even have a guest room so you wouldn’t have to worry about not having your own space here, okay?” You look at her for a long moment, taking in the seriousness behind Rachel’s eyes.

This girl is a goddamn angel.

And you want nothing more than to lean forward and press your lips against hers.

But there’s a storm raging inside of you next to a cluster of cells that won’t be just a cluster of cells in a few months and this isn’t how you want your first kiss with Rachel to be like.

(You go pink when you realize that you actually want to kiss her and be with her. Because there’s one thing in knowing that you’re bound to each other like Rachel said, but it’s a completely different thing actually _feeling_ it. It makes your heart flutter.)

So instead you say, “thank you,” and you hope Rachel knows the weight behind your words and how they are an anchor on your chest, pushing down until the colors are all squished together.

And she smiles and you know she understands.

“And since you’re going to keep the baby until full term, you need to get to the doctors as soon as possible. Both to double check that you are in fact pregnant and that everything is okay so far.” You feel the color drain from your face because how are you going to manage that? “I know you don’t want your parents to find out, so we can either find a clinic we could go to, or pull some strings.” You look at her with a raised eyebrow in question. “My daddy is a doctor at the hospital and he has _many_ friends. I’m sure he would be able to swing something for you.”

You nod your head and silently add another tally to the “How Many Times The Berry’s Have Saved My Ass” list.

It’s steadily growing.

“I know you haven’t met daddy yet, but he’s not as intimidating as he seems. He’s quiet and likes to stay in the background of things and people perceive that as him being distant and … unapproachable, but he’s really kind and gentle when you actually get to know him. He _actually_ reminds me a _lot_ of someone that I know…” And Rachel’s smiling at you so softly she has gold flecks in her eyes and you feel yourself bashfully biting the inside of your lip to keep from smiling.

“Very smooth, Berry,” and you roll your eyes but inside you’re grinning like a goddamn fool. Because, really, that _was_ actually kind of smooth. Not that you would ever seriously admit that.

“And, besides, he was the one who carried you up here and he agreed with me when dad said you were cute.” _Annnnnd the blush is back._

_Blushing because Rachel called you cute? That’s actually kind of pathetic, Fabray._

(But, _oh my god_ , Rachel thinks you’re _cute!_ )

You roll your eyes and try to win back some cool points because right now? You don’t have any.

“You act like I don’t already know that I’m cute,” okay, so not the best you could have come up with, but Rachel is grinning at you and there is laughter in her eyes – and _honestly_ , anyone would have a difficult time coming up with witty remarks when Rachel was looking at them like _that_.

“I don’t doubt that, Quinn,” and it’s light and happy and you finally cave and grin right back at Rachel, shaking your head all awhile.

“Sorry to switch the mood again, but I still have some questions if you don’t mind me asking?”

You already promised her that she could ask whatever, so you nod your head.

“When do you plan on telling Finn?”

Your brows scrunch together because _tell Finn what?_ But then your heart stops and you feel you’ve been dunked in _gray_ because Rachel thinks this is Finn’s baby.

“Quinn – you have to tell him. I know it’s probably rather daunting to think about, but this baby is also his and –”

“- It’s not Finn’s baby” you mumble out.

“… What?” Rachel pushes back from her spot in front of you until she’s sitting completely on the floor. “If it’s not Finn’s, then who’s…?”

You gulp down the blackness and look away from Rachel.

“… Puck…”

And then all of a sudden Rachel is standing up and pacing _furiously_ across her room.

“ _Noah_ Puckerman? Noah _Puckerman_? Is the _father_ of _your_ baby? _The_ Noah Puckerman that used to sit next to me at _temple_? Oh my _god_ I’m going to _kill him_!”

Even though you know that this is a serious conversation, you have to bite the inside of your lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. Because an enraged – and dare you even say _jealous_ – Rachel? Totally hilarious.

(And slightly hot but that’s something else entirely.)

“If it makes you feel better, I was drunk when it happened,” you try to placate Rachel. But then she’s spinning on her heel to stare at you with what you can only describe as Crazy Eyes and her arms are flailing and now you’re slightly concerned for her safety because you’re just _waiting_ for her to hit something.

“ _No it doesn’t make me feel better, Quinn!_ In fact it only makes matters _worse_! Because your first,” Rachel flailed for a word and after a few seconds of struggling settled on, “ _moment of intimacy_ ,” which you cringe at because _really Rachel?_ “was with _Noah_ and you weren’t even _sober_! Which means how could you even have been sure you even – even _enjoyed it_!” You blush because this is actually slightly mortifying but then Rachel’s once again looking at you, Crazy Eyes now slammed shut until they were barley slits. “You didn’t enjoy it – _did you_?”

You’re blinking at a rate of a million per second and _wow okay so not where I thought this conversation was going._

“Um…” But then Rachel’s whipping her head back and forth, her hair flying all over the place.

“NO! _Don’t_ answer that! I do _not_ want to know if you enjoyed having – having _sex_ with Noah Puckerman!”

(You’re starting to wonder if you should try and calm Rachel down because it’s slightly alarming how she went from zero to a million in about two seconds flat. But you’re also slightly terrified of what she would do if you _did_ try to calm her. You know Rachel is dramatic so you just let her have her moment.)

“Trust me, Rach, I’m not happy with it either. I mean, I even asked him if he was using protection and he said he was,” you immediately regret saying that because you swear to _god_ you see steam coming from Rachel’s ears.

“HE LIED ABOUT USING PROTECTION?”And hers eyes are so wide and boring into yours so you just timidly nod your head. And then Rachel gives a scream and is all of a sudden racing for her bedroom door probably about to physically maim Puck. You jump up from the desk chair and barely manage to wrap your arms around her waist before she went storming out of the door.

“Rach! Calm down!” You feel her struggling in your grip.

“I will _not_ calm down, Quinn Fabray! I am going to personally _castrate_ Noah so he won’t ever have to worry about _wearing protection ever again_!” Your eyes widen in fear for the poor boy. A part of you wants to let go of Rachel and just sit back and enjoy the front row seats to the Crazy Eye Show – because really, Puck lying about using protection was so not cool. But you roll your eyes and pick up Rachel like she weighed nothing – because she’s close enough to it – and walk her over to her bed.

“Quinn! Quinn put me down this instant! Put me _down_!” So you do. You toss her on her bed and she lands with flailing limbs and messed up hair.

 _She looks so cute_.

She tosses her hair out of her face and huffs up at you. “Quinn Fabray I cannot _believe_ you just _manhandled_ me! Of all of the _absurd_ things –”

“– Rachel you need to be quiet now and take a deep breath,” and she shuts her mouth and looks so _offended_ , you can’t help but chuckle. And even though you know that all Rachel is seeing is _red_ , you can’t help but see pink everywhere you look. You raise a brow until Rachel rolls her eyes and dramatically takes a deep breath.

“Thank you. Now. While _yes_ what Puck did wasn’t okay at all, and while _yes_ it was … nice witnessing you slip _very_ dramatically into the protective role, I think we can both safely say that you kind of… flew off the handle a little bit just then.” Rachel goes to say something, but you cut her off with a raised hand. “And I was drunk so honestly the finer details are a bit … blurry. But what I _can_ tell you is that it didn’t mean anything, okay? I was angry and feeling fat and unwanted so,” you roll your eyes at yourself, “so Puck was there and I fixed my problems. Now had I known a bigger problem would have been the outcome then _no_ I wouldn’t have had sex with him.” You frown in disgust. “Actually. I wouldn’t ever have sex with him even if I was stone cold _sober_ ,” you shudder.

You look at Rachel to see her calmed down a little– yet still slightly too close to the Crazy Eyes side for your liking – so you keep talking.

“I appreciate your concern and willingness to defend me, Rach. I really do. And believe me, earlier today I would have been right there next to you with a pair of scissors in my hand. But… It’s done. It’s over. What happened, happened and I’m choosing to move on. I’m trying, remember?”

You’re not even ashamed when you pull out the pout to drive in the final nail to Rachel’s coffin. You see her roll her eyes and you do an internal victory dance.

“ _Fine._ But I’m not going to admit that I probably _did_ just go a little bit _psycho_. Even though I fully believe that Puck deserves to be punished for _lying to you about protection_.”

You sit on the edge of the bed by Rachel’s feet.

“I mean he is becoming a teen dad, so I think that might be punishment enough. Hell, he might live the rest of his life with a condom on just so this never happens again,” and you both share a laugh and you know you’ll be okay.

Rachel slowly sits up until she’s sitting next to you and you both ignore the way your legs are flushed against each other’s (except you know you both could never ignore that feeling even if you tried). Rachel bumps your shoulder with hers and whispers, “I am sorry. For how I acted. For your situation. For… all of this.” And without even thinking, you lift your arm and wrap it around her shoulders until she is snuggled into your side. You feel her breathe against your collarbone and _wow okay you wish there was a color specifically for this feeling_.

(You’ll have to think about that one later.)

“It’s okay,” and you mean it. Because even though this is a mess you _never_ wanted to deal with, you’re playing with a strand of Rachel’s hair while she’s curled up against you and, _honestly_ , anything is okay if it ends like this.

Rachel sighs against you and you both are quiet again; simply enjoying being together. Because while the world is spinning and life is bustling outside of the window, in your world of messy colors that have been drawn outside of the lines, you have your own chaotic beauty.

But then you hear a car beep outside and feel Rachel stiffen against you.

“Hey, Quinn,” she breathes out.

“Yeah?”

“Um… Remember how you said you wanted to shake my daddy’s hand?”

“… Yes? … Why?”

“Well… You’re about to have your chance.”

And then you hear the front door open and two male voices float up to you. Dread is cement in your bones when you hear the door close again.

“Rachel! We’re home! Tell Quinn to come down – we would _love_ to talk to her!”

Your heart is thundering in your chest and you wonder if Rachel can hear it. And then she’s out of your hold and looking at you like you might explode any second – which you actually think you might.

“Hey, Rach?” you breathe out.

“Yeah?”

“Save some room in Puck’s coffin for me, would you?” And all she can do is smile sympathetically and squeeze your hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear next chapter with have fluff.
> 
> Well. At least some fluff.
> 
> ;)
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to leave a comment here or at my blog, whatwordsmiss.tumblr.com. Receiving feedback is so important to me and I like knowing if people are even reading this and if they're enjoying it or not. So if you have ANY kind of helpful comments, please feel free to share! I want this story to be the best it can be but I need your words to help me get there!
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAKING A CHANCE ON THIS STORY!!!


	5. Sophomore Year Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Wow I'm on a roll with these updates)  
> I'm driving down to college later today because my semester starts on Wednesday so I REALLY wanted to post something before I have to lock myself away in the library. I understand that it's not exactly a lot with this chapter, but holy crap it just did not want me writing it. I actually intended for some other things to happen (like some slight time jumps), but they just didn't happen.  
> However. With that being said, I think you'll enjoy the direction my muse dragged me in.  
> Things will start moving again next chapter... I'm just not too sure when that will be.  
> Thank you for sticking with me and taking a chance on my story!  
> Enjoy! X

**Sophomore Year Part 4**

.

“Quinn I need you to breathe, okay? Just breathe: in and out, in and out.”

You pause your frantic pacing to shoot Rachel an unimpressed look. “A few months too early for breathing exercises, don’t you think, Berry?” But Rachel keeps standing as calm as can be as you walk back and forth so fiercely you’re not sure how Rachel’s floor doesn’t have a rut in it yet.

A part of you finds it funny how your positions have all of a sudden flipped.

But the larger part of you wants to vomit because you’re so nervous.

_Okay, Quinn, compartmentalize. One thing at a time. First: fix yourself._

So you stop pacing, take a deep breath, and tighten your ponytail. You swivel to face Rachel and she looks slightly shocked at your sudden switch of emotions but you have a mission you need to concentrate on.

“Did you happen to bring my cheerio bag up?”

Rachel blinks owlishly and points to the bag you hadn’t seen resting against the wall. “Yeah, it’s –”

“– Perfect, thank you, Rach.” You stalk over to your bag and point to the closed door. “Is this your bathroom?”

“Uh, yes –“

“– Great.” And then you pick up the bag and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

And Rachel thought only she could pull off a dramatic exit.

You start rooting through your bag, pulling out various things, and you wonder how long it will take for Rachel to question you.

(You want to giggle when you remember the confused look on her face.)

She only lasts about thirty seconds before she’s knocking on the bathroom door.

“… Quinn? Are you… Is everything alright?” You pull on your skirt and sigh when you realize that most of your clothes won’t be fitting you in a few months. You pull off your cheerio’s top before you answer her.

“Everything’s fine, Rachel. I just don’t want your fathers believing the only thing I’m capable of doing is _crying_. Frankly, it’s even getting on _my_ nerves.” You pull on your favorite top and relax at the instant sense of comfort that surrounds you. “I’ll be out in a few.”

“Okay. Come out whenever you’re ready.” You freeze, the makeup bag in your hands forgotten, as the colors around you blur together. Because even though Rachel didn’t mean it any other way than you _walking out of the bathroom_ , the words still knock the air out of your chest. Because you’ll actually have to probably do that for real one day.

 _No – no, I – just because – it doesn’t mean I’m – No. No, I am_ not _…_ that _… I can’t be… No… No, I won’t… I can’t…_

You shake your head to clear the cacophony of colors.

 _One mess at a time, Quinn_.

So you wipe away your makeup as if you could wipe away everything that’s wrong in your life right now. And you put on fresh eyeliner and blush with a steady hand as if you were putting on your armor. Because, in a way, you are. You know that others find you beautiful (they would have never allowed you to be head cheerlead if you _weren’t_ ), and you know that makeup accentuates that beauty, and so you wear it with your nose in the air – because that way no one would be able to see what you really looked like. No one would be able to see the ugly little girl inside of you, still clinging to her stuffed lamb.

No one would see how gray you are.

So with a final flick of your wrist, you’ve fixed one problem.

_Okay, Fabray – time for damage control. The Berry’s think you’re a total basket case now, so you have to charm the pants off of them._

Your mind immediately imagines Rachel’s pants off and on the floor at her feet.

You force yourself to stare at the blush on your face until it burns you.

_Enough._

So you grab your bag and, with the colors still swirling around you, walk out of the bathroom.

You see Rachel sitting on the edge of her bed, lost in thought, with her feet being kicked out in front of her in a constant motion. She hasn’t noticed you yet so you allow yourself this moment to take in the sight of her.

You suddenly feel very sorry for her. Because it’s almost as if it just completely sank in that she’s stuck with _you_. You and your messy colors that have a tendency to be in places they shouldn’t be. And she probably has spent just as much time as you did dreaming of her own fairytale and happily ever after. Of shiny knights and bright city lights. But so far all she’s gotten are slushies and a mess that she never signed up for.

And it’s all your fault.

And it makes your colors blur because, while this _is_ technically _your_ mess and you’re stuck cleaning it up… she goes along willingly. Never asking for anything other than for you to _try_.

So you make a silent promise to yourself that that’s exactly what you will continue to do. You’ll try until the colors swirl together until they’re tie dye and you’ll try until the colors fade like a photo left in the sun for too long. Because even though your armor is worn and has dents and scratches, you can still try to piece together the best happy ever after for Rachel.

But then she finally notices you standing in the doorway and she’s looking at you like you’ve already given her that happy ending. So you will your body to relax, for your walls to disappear completely, and you allow Rachel to look at you. To _see_ _you_. And you pray that she _understands_ just what you’re trying to do – what you’re trying to express to her – because when she finally smiles at you, the colors sort themselves out.

And she’s smiling at you and it reminds you so much of the sunset at the dock… you know that she understands exactly what you’re doing.

“Hi.”

And then you smile the softest smile that contains more of the sky than of your lips – because you know what _she’s_ doing. She has changed quiet moments and ordinary words into something that is more reverent to you than any religion could ever be again. Because you want to count her freckles the way you used to count your rosary and trace her skin with your fingertips like how you used to read your bible. Because you find yourself worshiping the daze that she constantly puts you in – the way her eyes crinkle and her mouth curls like the golden cup that holds bitter red wine. But you _know_ that if you were to press your lips against hers, _bitter_ would be the last word to ever touch your tongue.

(You would press prayers against her skin and sigh out psalms because there is a sun streaming through your stain glass windows once again.)

So you let your eyes crinkle and your mouth curl as you respond because you _understand_. You understand and you hold it so close to your chest you feel it with every beat of your heart.

“Hello.”

And even though you would like nothing more than for this moment to last forever, you still have messes to fix. So you stand a little taller and draw from that inner confidence that is merely bricks built upon sand. Rachel sees the transformation and her smile is tinted with a melancholy that reminds you of the grayest blue that’s reserved for storm clouds above ocean waves. And you want to erase the gray completely so you do your best to reassure her.

“Rachel… I’m still here. You’re just going to be meeting a Quinn you haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced to yet.” And you smirk and you see her squint her eyes at you, but the gray is fading so you breathe a little bit easier. “You’ll find I can be quite charming when I want to be.”

And then her smile is back and you see the yellow slowly spreading with it.

“Well then,” and she stands up and walks to her bedroom door. With a flourish she opens it and extends her arm toward the hallway. “Shall we?”

And you share her smile and cheerfully reply, “we shall,” and your steps are bleeding so much blue and pink they turn into lavender below your feet. Because even though your heart is pounding you are so nervous, you find that’s it’s not because you’re scared (although you _are_ slightly) but rather it’s because you want the Berry men to _like_ you. You want them to like you because they are such a huge part of Rachel’s life and – the real thing that scares you is that – you want to be a huge part of her life as well. And so having her fathers like you is _extremely_ important.

So you walk down the stairs with your eyes trained on your feet until you get to the bottom. You hear them talking in the kitchen and it makes you pause. Rachel stands next to you, shoulder to shoulder, until she squeezes your hand.

“You can do this, Quinn. I believe in you.”

And then with a reassuring smile, Rachel’s hand slips out of yours and she makes her way into the kitchen. You look at her for a moment before following.

.

It’s almost two hours later and you’re back in Rachel’s bathroom changing into a pair of her pajamas. She’s shorter than you so the shorts don’t really leave _much_ to the imagination (not that your cheerio skirt does either) and the top is slightly tighter than you would enjoy it to be (you have to almost slap yourself from tugging at it because the action was so _Lucy_ ), but it smells like Rachel.

So you guess the clothes are okay.

You walk out of the bathroom to see Rachel bent in front of the shelf with her back to you.

“I figured we could watch a movie if you wanted, Quinn? I’ve never had someone sleep over so I’m not exactly positive which genre is the most appropriate. But since you are the guest you may take your pick if you would like. Although, I must warn you, that the majority of the movies that I own are in fact musicals. Surprising, I know. However, I do feel as if I have an adequate enough range of diversity with the movies that I _do_ own that _aren’t_ musicals. Obviously I’ll have to invest in some more, but this should do for now.”

But you don’t hear a word she said.

Because Rachel’s changed into her own pajamas while you were gone. And if you thought her _skirts_ were short… then Rachel’s sleep shorts completely redefine the term for you.

_Oh. My. God._

“Quinn?” Rachel calls out when you don’t answer. And then she’s standing up and turning to look at you – and there’s nothing you can do about your raised eyebrow and dropped jaw, so you just make peace with your ogling and only hope you’re not drooling. “Quinn what are you –” but the words die on her lips because suddenly Rachel sees what _you’re_ wearing.

And then you’re both just standing on opposite ends of Rachel’s bedroom, staring at each other like the teenagers you are. Neither of you say anything and you struggle with your breathing and the heat that is crawling up your neck, turning your face a deep maroon.

You feel your eyes rake up and down, drinking in the sight of tan skin and long legs. Her shirt is also a form fitting one and you want to personally thank her elliptical because you can only _imagine_ what’s underneath there – and the shirt is making it very easy to do.

But then a loud bang came from downstairs, jolting you out of your fog. You hear Rachel’s father jokingly scolding her dad, but all you hear is your own father’s voice shouting at you. It’s enough for your jaw to clamp shut, and for any thoughts you most certainly should not be thinking, to fly out of your mind.

“W-whatever you want, Rachel,” and you hate the way you stutter and you hate the way you’re blushing and you hate the way that your heart is stammering in your chest when you think of the way Rachel was looking at you. “We can watch your favorite.”

Rachel nods mutely and turns back to the shelf while you walk over to sit on Rachel’s bed. You scoot up until your back is resting against her wall and your head drifts back as your eyes slid shut. You don’t like how it feels like you and Rachel just took five steps backwards. Because you actually made some progress tonight, surprisingly. And even though you want to pinch yourself because of how awkward everything feels right now, you can’t help but quirk your lips in a phantom of smile when you remember the last two hours.

You actually had… _fun_.

You were right, for the most part, about Rachel’s other dad that you had yet to meet. He was quiet and had a gruff voice and calloused hands. But he looked you in the eyes when he spoke to you and you noticed how he was always, somehow or another, touching his husband or his daughter. And you knew it was a reassurance for him that they were _there_ and you would let your hand drift to your stomach and you understood. Because the reason why he asked you so many serious questions and gave you a harder time than Rachel or her dad, was because that he had to make sure. He had to make sure that you had changed from that mean cheerleader into someone who had made so many mistakes and was trying everything she could to fix those wrongs.

So you spoke with your voice as strong as violet and shook his hand with your own. You answered his questions, one by one, never once looking away from his eyes because you needed to make sure that he knew you _weren’t_ that girl anymore. You needed to make sure that he knew that – even though your colors were messy, they were yours and, day by day, you were sorting them out.

And Rachel sat next to you at the table and her hand was in yours and you knew it was to reassure _you_. To reassure you that _it’s okay_. To reassure you that she believes in you.

And so you held her hand under the table to tell her that you were here and you were scared out of your mind, but you were trying.

The only time there was ever a potentially catastrophic moment was when Rachel’s father – Leroy, as he eventually told you call him once your interrogation was over – mentioned your own family. Or, more specifically, your father.

You remember the way you felt the black tinting your blood until it was everywhere inside of you. You were doing so well up until that point, but you shut down and didn’t know how to answer him. You were scared you were going to break Rachel’s hand you were holding it so tightly because _what are you going to tell them?_

But that was also the moment that everything flipped for you. Because even though it was so quiet in that kitchen you could hear your heart pounding, and even though every part of your body froze so you couldn’t move an inch even if you wanted to – that was the moment you witnessed Leroy melt.

He had stood up from the table and walked slowly over to you. And instead of towering over your slightly shaking frame, he squatted down next to you, and held your other hand. He held your hand and you felt comforted knowing that those hands worked every day to fix people. And he whispered to you that the only thing that matters is that _you do what’s best for you_. He said that _there will always be options to choose from, there will always be different roads to take, there will always be more chances for us to start over. Even if we can’t necessarily see them ourselves._

And he held your one hand while his daughter held your other and he told you that _you are not alone_. He reminded you to _keep holding on and to never give up because even though giving up may the easiest thing to do, you deserve better than a half finished story_. And you wanted to cry because you don’t remember the last time someone told you that you deserved _better_. That you deserved to be _happy_.

Despite the fact that the moment lasted no longer than a minute, you felt like you were able to exist in the world around you a little easier. Because even though Leroy had let go of your hand to turn on the radio, Rachel was still holding on. And you understood where her kind-heartedness and seemingly infinite amount of compassion comes from. So you looked to Hiram and then to Rachel and they were both wearing the same smile and you just _really_ wanted to cry.

But then you heard the opening notes of the song on the radio and you couldn’t help the smile that exploded on your face. And you giggled at the curious smile on Rachel’s face and you saw her eyes twinkle and it made the moment all the more beautiful to you.

“What?” She had asked you and you almost gave in to the standard reply of _it’s nothing_ – but you were trying. And it wasn’t _nothing_ , so you bit your lip and sheepishly admitted,

“It’s just San, Britt, and I have made our own routine to this song.” And you’re blushing but Rachel and her dad look absolutely thrilled.

“Quinn! You have to perform it!” Rachel had been so excited she grabbed your arm with both of her hands and Hiram grinned at you and nodded his head.

So you covered your face with your hand and shook your head, but you were smiling too. So you rolled your eyes good naturedly and stood up and walked to the middle of the kitchen.

The lyrics had already started so you quickly ran through the steps in your head until you caught up.

And so before you even knew what happened, you were dancing and singing to the Supremes’ _Come See About Me_ and Rachel was laughing and clapping ecstatically while her dads cheered you on. And you were smiling and laughing and felt so god damn pink and yellow and orange you felt like every molecule of your being was made out of sunsets.

And then the song was over and you bowed and couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so big. But the next song came on and Hiram jumped up from the table and was the one to grab your hand this time. And he pulled you around the kitchen in circles and you danced with him to The Temptations. He had poked fun at Rachel and Leroy before Leroy had Rachel twirling around next to you.

And that’s how the next hour went for you: singing and dancing and twirling and laughing. And with every step you took, with every giggle that bubbled past your lips, with every dip Hiram spun you into, you felt yourself healing.

You felt yourself _glowing_.

And – for the first time in far too long – you felt as if you had finally understood what it meant to be home.

So now you’re lying on Rachel’s bed and you can’t help but whisper those words you would beg to hear lifetimes ago.

“Orange is the feeling after a long, fun day and you think about all the times you laughed and smiled. Pink is the feeling you get when you sing and dance to your favorite song. And brown is the feeling of being home.”

And you open your eyes and look next to you. And you didn’t notice when the lights were turned off and you didn’t notice when Rachel sat next to you and you didn’t notice the movie beginning to play in the background. You didn’t notice that you had begun to softly cry.

But you do notice the way Rachel is looking at you. You notice the astonished look that is underlined with awe. You notice how close she is to you. You notice how warm she is. You notice how warm she always is.

You notice. You see. You understand.

“Is that…” She whispers and then licks her lips and takes a shaky breath. “Is that how you used to see colors? Before…?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

And she nods slowly and looks at you like she’s peering into your soul, and even though it’s your natural instinct to close yourself off, you allow her to look. You allow her to notice. To see. To understand.

Tears pool in her eyes.

“I used to see through music.” Your replying smile is gentle and full of periwinkle. You turn and scoot down until you’re lying on your side, and Rachel follows suit.

The movie is forgotten except for the way the light from the TV flickers in Rachel’s shimmering eyes.

You watch the way her eyelashes flutter.

“I used to pair emotions with the sounds of different instruments and different tempos. And sometimes it would all just be so intense, I swore I could have seen the actual colors.” Her voice is smooth and gentle and you continue to silently cry as you listen to her. Because she is opening herself to you in return and you hold her heart with the softest fingers.

“And how does everything sound right now?” And your words are barely there just like everything in the world around you.

Because there is only Rachel and every shade of beautiful that she is.

Her hand reaches until it’s lightly caressing your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“Like there’s a symphony in my chest.”

And you understand.

So you wipe away her tears and lean forward.

And you kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> (Also this is me lowkey pleading for you guys to leave a comment (I won't say begging because I am too dang prideful for that) or just a quick note or something. Any feedback is so important to me because it takes no more than ten seconds to write, but it honestly sticks with me for weeks. Your words make my words mean something. And so a huge thank you to everyone who has already left a comment - you guys rock my socks off.)
> 
> Have a great day and come say hey if you want at whatwordsmiss.tumblr.com :)
> 
> Thank you so much :)


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